


We Were Never Functional Anyway

by BleedingInk



Series: Functional Families Are Overrated [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: De-Aged Castiel, De-Aged Meg, Domestic shenannigans, Domesticity, Gen, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3079082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters have faced a lot of things in their day and age: monsters, angels, the Devil himself. But when Castiel and Meg are cursed and turned into nine-year-old kids, the brothers may encounter their most terrifying challenge yet: paternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Backfire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qzil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qzil/gifts).



“Remember, Clarence: you can take as many of his minions as you like, but leave the smarmy dick to me.”

Castiel looked at the warehouse in front of them. Ever since they had found out just who Rowena was, they had been tracking down Crowley because, as Dean put it, “an ancient witch and the King of Hell having a family reunion can’t be good news.” That night, Meg had showed up unexpectedly in Castiel’s room to tell him he had found where Crowley and Rowena were hiding, although she couldn’t quite figure out what they were doing. But they should probably take them out, just in case.

“I still think we should wait for the Winchesters,” Castiel protested, for the fifth time.

“We can’t,” Meg replied, clutching her blade. Her eyes had gone pitch black. “Don’t you feel it?”

The angel reckoned she was right. The building in front of them was oozing with an ancient, growing power. He deduced Rowena must have been gathering the force to cast an especially complex spell with unknown proposes, and they had to interrupt her before she was ready. Time was of the essence.

They stalked towards the doors, looking over their shoulders. Castiel flicked his hand, and the padlock closing the gates fell to the ground, useless. They exchanged looks, thinking the same thing: that had been way too easy. They tiptoed inside and down the hall, looking over their shoulders to detect anything suspicious. Even the storage rooms were empty, without any of the usual prisoners or torture instruments they were used to see in these places.

“Isn’t it this the part where we get attacked by a bunch of demons?” Meg asked in a whisper. “Or a pack of Hellhounds?”

“That’s not the strangest thing,” Castiel said, pointing at the walls and the ceiling. “The place is not even guarded. There are no traps or Enochian sigils anywhere.”

“They might cause some sort of radio interference with whatever Rowena is invoking,” Meg speculated.

“Or we might be walking right into a trap.”

They stopped on their tracks and stared at each. Once again, they didn’t need words to know what the other was thinking. If it was a trap, it was a particularly sloppy one, and it wasn’t like that was going to make them back down anyway after weeks of waiting and searching. If they had a shot at Crowley, they had to take it now.

“Stay close,” Castiel instructed the demon.

“You cover my back, I cover yours,” she replied.

They kept moving forward in absolute silence, until they reached the center of the warehouse. The heavy stench of brimstone reached their nostrils, mixed with something else, a spicy, tickling smell it took Castiel a couple of seconds to identify.

“Birch wood?”

Meg frowned. Birch was a wood used in druidic purifying rituals. It was nature magic, not exactly the kind of hardcore witchcraft they had come to expect from Rowena. What was she trying to achieve?

They stayed silent, trying to distinguish the litany of whispered words coming from the other side of the door. Meg’s ancient Celtic was a bit rusty, but by Castiel’s confused expression, she imagined the angel had also picked the words “renewal” and “transform.” Whatever it was, they needed to stop it up right now.

“Wait, Meg…” Castiel began, but Meg had already pushed the doors open.

They barely had time to catch a glimpse of Rowena’s red hair leaning in front of a book and Crowley kneeling in front of her. A potent wave of energy hit them in the chests and shoved them against the wall. They fell together, whimpering and groaning in pain.

Rowena’s concentration broke, and she turned around to stare at the bundle of clothes behind her.

“Oh,” she muttered.

 

* * *

 

“They’re not answering,” Sam informed Dean, after the fourth time Castiel’s phone went straight to voicemail. Meg’s wasn’t any good either.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, and accelerated. “That’s just like them. They call, give us some coordinates, then go completely radio silent and expect us to show up without further explanation.”

“They did mention it had to do with Crowley,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe they can’t pick up right now.”

Dean kept cursing under his breath, commenting how Meg was a bad influence on Cas for encouraging his running headfirst into danger habits and how hard was it for them to wait fifteen goddamn minutes, really…

Sam passed from saying that Cas had those impulse way before whatever it was he had going on with Meg started and simply indicated Dean to take the next turn.

“We’re here,” he said, as they parked the car in an empty road, in front a warehouse with its gates and doors wide open. They got out of the Impala, with Dean holding his gun high while Sam wielded Ruby’s knife in case they were ambushed.

“Huh,” Dean said, frowning as they entered the hallways. “Don’t you think this place is a little too… quiet to be one of Crowley’s liars?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded. “There are also no bodies lying around.”

Dean understood what his brother meant: there were no tortured or mangled corpses, it was true. But there were also no discarded meatsuits by demons, no marks of wings in the walls. In fact, there were no marks at all, anywhere. If it wasn’t for the faint scent of sulfur, the place could have perfectly been an abandoned warehouse with nothing supernatural going on there.

“Maybe we got here too late?” Dean suggested.

He hadn’t even finished saying it when a high-pitched desperate scream echoed around them, followed by the piercing cry of a baby. Without further hesitating, the Winchesters launched themselves forwards toward the center room, with their weapons ready to shoot or stab whatever or whoever was hurting those kids.

So it was sort of a shock to find Rowena running around the room, holding a baby protectively against her body. The little stinker was shaking his little fists in the air, crying louder than any baby they’d ever heard while all the lights in the room flickered and sparkle. A black-haired girl was chasing barefoot after the witch, which was no easy task considering she had to do it while holding onto a pair of adult-sized jeans.

“Change us back!” she kept demanding while Rowena tried to get away from her. “Fucking change us back or I will snap the neck of that small dick you call a son!”

“You will not do such thing, young lady!” Rowena replied, in her thick Scottish accent. She put her hand forwards, and the little girl flew across the room and landed heavily on the ground with a whimper. “Such manners!”

“Hey, hey!” Dean screamed stepping forwards and pointing at Rowena with his hand. “Take it easy!”

Sam ran towards the little girl, who was barely staggering back to her feet and still holding on to her jeans as if her life depended on it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing her arm to help her recover her balance.

The girl looked up at him. She couldn’t be older than nine or ten years old. She had a round face that was very familiar for some reason, but before Sam could pinpoint who she was, her brown eyes flashed black.

“I will be as soon as that bitch reverts what she’s done!” the girl said, pointing an accusing finger at Rowena.

Something clicked in the back of Sam’s brain. The tone of voice was much shriller, of course, but the way she accentuated the ‘S’ and the necklace she was wearing…

“Meg?”

“What?” Dean asked. His face was frozen somewhere between amusement and bewilderment.

The little demon raised a finger at him. “Don’t you dare make a joke, Dean Winchester, or else…!”

“Wait a second,” Dean shook his hand and pointed the barrel at Rowena again. “Where’s Cas?”

There was a soft moan somewhere to their left, and then, what Sam had mistaken by a bundle of old clothes moved aside to reveal a boy, of about the same age as Meg was now. His dark hair was pointing in every direction, and there was a curious expression in his blue eyes, as he pulled back the sleeves of his now oversized trench coat to analyze his own small hands. Then he looked up at the hunters.

“Dean?” he called, like he expected the older Winchester to offer an explanation for what was going on.

Dean stared at the pint-sized angel, then at the demon girl who was growling slightly, then at his brother – whose baffled expression probably mirrored his – and finally at the witch and her crying baby.

“If it’s any consolation,” Rowena said, with a little shrug. “I was not expecting that to happen.”


	2. Rejuvenation

“Stop, backtrack,” Dean said, shaking his hands as if to order his thoughts. “You did a what now?”

Rowena huffed, impatiently, and flipped her hair back. She was softly rocking the baby, which had stopped crying and was now cooing and sucking his thumb.

“A rejuvenation spell,” Rowena explained, drawing out each syllable, like a teacher trying to explain something obvious to the dumbest kid in the class. “It’s pretty basic. All witches use it to maintain a youthful appearance. Or what, you thought I looked this well at six-hundred-years-old without a little lift now and then?”

“Look, lady, I couldn’t care less about your beauty routine,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “I just want to know how the fuck did your ‘pretty basic’ spell caused… _that_.”

He pointed to his left, where Sam was keeping a firm hand on Meg’s shoulder. The demon had finally stopped struggling and screaming bloody murder, and now had her arms crossed sulkily while Castiel stood close to her, touching his face, running his fingers through his hair and staring down at his small feet like he was trying to figure out a complicated riddle.

“Well, Fergus and I had been talking a lot about how lucky we are to have found each other again after so many years,” Rowena explained. “I wanted to show to him that I could be a good mother this time around… if he only gave me the chance,” she added with a whisper and longing gaze at the baby in her arms.

“So wait, you’re saying… that’s Crowley?” Sam asked.

“Fergus,” Rowena corrected him. “Yes. This is my tiny little, demonic baby,” she added, tickling the baby’s chin with a fascinated smile in her face. “I adapted the spell so it would rejuvenate his vessel, while keeping his soul as black and evil as it was… oh, yes, yes I did,” she added, in the silly voice mothers used to talk to their babies.

“And what about us?” Meg asked, stomping her foot in the ground.

“Well, you just happened to get caught in the expansive wave with no protection, dear,” Rowena explained. “You’re lucky you’re at least able to speak and walk.”

Dean threw his arms in the air. He was a seasoned hunter. He had seen a lot of messed up and/or impossible things in his day and age. He’d been dragged through the mud and covered in blood and guts more times than he cared to remember. He had faced all sort of monsters, angels, demons… hell, he had been a demon himself for a while.

But this? This had to be the most unbelievable fucked up thing ever. This was where he crossed the line.

“Fix them,” he demanded.

“Yes, right now!” Meg added.

Dean mentally corrected himself. The fact that he and Meg had come to agree on something was the most fucked up thing.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Sam asked.

“This was no easy spell,” Rowena said, with a dramatic sigh. “I am frankly too exhausted to…”

“Bullshit,” Dean interrupted her. “You’re one of the most powerful witches alive.”

“Flatterer,” Rowena smiled. “But the spell does require a certain amount of energy that will take some time for me to gather up again. Also, there is no counter-spell. I didn’t design one since I didn’t think I would need it.”

“Okay,” Dean pinched his nose, reminding himself they needed Rowena alive for this. “How long would it take you to do all that?”

Rowena looked down at baby Crowley, pensively.

“Let’s say… a few months,” she determined.

“What?!” Meg yelled.

“Come again?” Dean asked at the same time.

“Well, yes,” the witch shrugged. “Coming up with the words and rituals for something completely new is no easy task. Best case scenario, nothing will happen. In the worst… well, I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to expose your little bundles of joys to that.”

“They’re not ours,” Dean groaned.

“Dean,” Castiel called him. He had his hands around his stomach. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Meg added.

“You don’t need to eat,” Sam pointed out.

“But we’re hungry!” Meg protested, obnoxiously as Castiel looked up at him with his blue eyes glimmering.

“Part of the spell, dear,” Rowena explained at Dean’s confusion. “They still have their powers, though I doubt they remember how to use them. But they also get to experiment all of the spectrum of human needs, like hunger, tiredness… even the need for affection. Isn’t that right, Fergus?” she added, because the baby was pulling her hair to demand her attention. “Yes, it is…”

“Well, isn’t there someone who can undo it? Like another witch or…?” Sam suggested.

Rowena shook her head. “The only beings powerful enough to undo this spell would be an archangel or a major demon,” she said. “And as I understand it, there are no many left of those since _someone_ made a point to stab them all in the face.”

Meg stomped her little foot on the ground. “This sucks.”

Dean thought it was almost sad that he agreed with Meg on so many things on the same day.

 

* * *

 

“Cas, stop fidgeting with that,” Dean groaned.

Cas immediately let go of the seat belt he had been toying with and put his hands over his knees, very stiff. Meg was looking outside of the window, completely ignoring except to let out a huff of impatience every now and then. Dean till had a hard time believing it. If hunters had reality TV programs dedicated to them, this would probably be one of the sick jokes they’d submitted their participants to.

But it wasn’t. This was their lives now.

“Well, we have to take care of them until Rowena can age them up again,” Sam said, like they had been having a silent but long conversation on the topic and that was the only logical conclusion.

“I know, but how are we suppose to… Cas, I told you not to do that!” Dean repeated, and Cas stopped touching the seatbelt again.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he apologized. “But I feel very uncomfortable. I’m not used to being this small and powerless.”

Dean pondered that must have been right. Cas had commented many times that in his true form he was very tall and…

“Hey, can’t you just get out of there?” he asked, in a fit of inspiration. “Get yourselves new meatsuits or something?”

Meg snickered and shook her head a little, without taking her eyes off the window.

“What she means to say is that we’ve already tried,” Castiel translated. “We’re trapped in these bodies. And whatever Rowena did, it not only affected them. It also affected… us.”

The little angel put a hand on his chest, but he was frowning, like he didn’t know exactly how to transmit to Dean what he meant.

“You mean like, your true forms?” Sam tried to help.

“Yes… no. I’m not sure,” Castiel said. “All I know is that despite not feeling any presence there, a part of my mind is irrationally convinced there is some sort of danger lurking in the shadows ahead of us and I’m relieved every time the lights prove me wrong. It’s very unsettling.”

“You’re afraid of the dark?” Sam understood.

“Oh, that’s great,” Dean said. “So not only do you look like nine-years-old, you also think like them.”

“I’m still hungry,” Meg complained. “And we need new clothes. How long until we get there?”

“Not much longer now,” Sam told her.

They remained quiet and still for exactly ten minutes until Meg asked again:

“Are we there yet?”

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Dean groaned. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those little… Cas, last warning, stop touching the seat belt!”

Sam reckoned Dean was going to need a drink when they got home.


	3. Adjusting

“MEG MASTERS, GET YOUR FEET OF THE COUCH RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR ELSE…!”

The scream disturbed the concentration Sam had come to muster. He raised his eyes from the books just in time to see Meg’s long hair floating away, accompanied by her malicious giggles. Dean followed her with his face bright red and screaming that he was going to stuck her inside a Devil’s Trap and leave her there until the next Apocalypse. Sam sighed deeply and pinched his nose.

It had been a week since Castiel and Meg had been turned into children, and the adjusting to the whole situation had been… well, rocky.

The first problem they had to deal with was finding some size-appropriate clothing. The Men of Letter didn’t keep children around, of course, so all they could come up with was a frilly dress that was too short for Meg to wear. In any case, the short demon had declared she’d rather be exorcise than put that on, and Dean had muttered under his breath to stop tempting him.

So the first stop the next day had been a clothing store where they had to guess what sizes they’d need. Sam knew Meg would pulverize the clothes if they took anything pink or excessively girly, so he’d opted for jeans, some short skirts and blouses. Dean had managed to find a shirt that read “I’m a pretty little angel” and immediately purchase it for Castiel.

“Ah, come on,” he’d said, when Sam had rolled his eyes at him. “I bet he’ll find it funny.”

He hadn’t been wrong. Upon seeing, Castiel had actually put it on and thanked Dean with shining eyes. Sam didn’t have the heart to tell them the reason Meg wouldn’t stop laughing: that was a girl’s shirt.

After that, they’d started investigating some way to revert Rowena’s spell, but to no avail. Sam didn’t know if that because, just as the witch had warned them, it was ironclad or simply because the research moved agonizingly slow. The brothers had tried to enlist Meg and Castiel’s help in finding a cure, which had proven to be ultimately useless: they both now had the restless mind of the kids they appeared to be, and they couldn’t sit still for longer than hour reading those all documents before Castiel started fidgeting in his chair or Meg started chewing paper and spitting the wet balls at Dean’s forehead.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Dean had asked, disgusted and irritated.

“I am _booooooooored_ ,” Meg had replied in a long, drawn out purr. “I wanna watch a movie.”

“We don’t have time for that right now!” Dean had pointed out angrily. “We have to keep muddling through this stuff until we find something useful…”

“Come on, Clarence, let’s get the hell out of here,” Meg had replied, utterly unimpressed by Dean’s explanations.

She got up and extended her hand towards Castiel, who looked at the archives, then look at her, and then, with an apologetic look, he grabbed Meg’s hand and they’d both bolted out of the library without looking back. Dean had remained stunned for a second by that clear defiance to his authority, but then he’d begun going after them while screaming:

“Both of you! Come back here right this instant or…!”

“Dean,” Sam had called his brother. “There’s no use.”

Whatever Rowena had done, it was in full effect. They couldn’t count on Meg and Cas’ help more than they could’ve count on the help of any snarky nine-year-old girl or hypersensitive boy.

“But we can’t just let them roam around here like that!” Dean had protested.

He was right. They were too many hidden Devil’s Traps in the bunker, not to mention all the pointy and magical objects lying around. Sam didn’t even want to imagine what that could cause in the hands of a bored Meg without any impulse control.

“Well, how about you keep an eye on them while I keep reading?” he’d proposed.

“Oh, great,” Dean had groaned. “So I get to be the babysitter.”

Despite his complaints and protests, Dean didn’t do it half as bad. He managed to keep Castiel and Meg entertained with some sort of board game or by reading them a story. Most of the time, they were quiet enough for Sam to focus on the mountain of information he had to go through in the feeble hope of finding some semblance of a clue. But sometimes Meg needed something more stimulating, and that’s when she began with her favorite pastime: tormenting Dean. Apparently, there was something about being able to outrun a grown man that was infinitely amusing to the little demon.

The sound of piles and piles of book crashing down followed by Dean’s cursing and Meg’s mocking laughter echoed down the hall. Sam took a deep breath, while Castiel’s head popped around the corner. He stared up at the hunter with big saddened eyes.

“Is Meg gonna get in trouble?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Sam lied, and closed the book in front of him. “Come on now; it’s bath time.”

Bedtime was challenging to say the least. Meg and Castiel had no idea how to do that, so lying in the darkness just didn’t do it for them. It wasn’t long until they started roaming down the hallways, or calling for glasses of water they didn’t really need.

And they had nightmares. Sam still shuddered remembering the night he’d woken up to a pair of pitch black eyes staring at him. Instinctively he’d reached for the gun under his pillow, but found nothing there.

“I hid it,” a small voice had said. The pair of black eyes had blinked and become brown again.

“Meg?” Sam had whispered, and rubbed his face a couple of times. The small demon was sitting on his chest and practically breathing in his face. “What are you…?”

“Cas had a nightmare,” Meg had explained, pointing at the angel, who was standing next to the bed with his face wet from the tears.

“Meg had a nightmare too,” Castiel protested.

“No, I said _you_ were a nightmare…”

“Okay,” Sam yawned, and sat up, which was an impressive feat because he was still half asleep and with a nine year old demon on top of him. But Meg had docilely let him grab her by the waist and move her aside to make room in the bed for Cas. “Wanna come here and tell me about it, buddy?”

Cas had climbed next to him.

“I dreamed the stars were falling from the sky,” he’d murmured. “But they weren’t stars…”

Sam had started to tell him it had been just a dream, but Meg was shifting at his left.

“What are you doing?” Sam had asked again.

“Your bed is uncomfortable,” she’d complained.

“Well, then, you should have tried waking Dean,” Sam had said, through gritted teeth.

“We did,” Castiel had replied. “He shouted at us and tried to shoot us.”

“That’s why we took your gun away first,” Meg had pointed out, very satisfied with her own cleverness.

Dean’s silhouette had appeared on the door. “There you are, you little…”

“You tried to shoot them?!” Sam had screamed at him.

“No,” Dean’d lied, hiding his gun behind his back. His brother had glared at him. “They scared me!”

“Dean, I can’t believe you, you’re so…” Sam had began, but got interrupted by a breathy sound. Meg was giggling uncontrollably, covering her mouth with a hand.

And suddenly it’d all made sense.

“Meg, did you scare Dean on purpose?” Sam had asked, using his most severe tone of voice.

“Maybe,” she’d snickered.

“Meg, that wasn’t nice,” Castiel had scolded her. Only them Meg’s shoulder had slumped, and she’d looked just a  _tiny bit_  guilty.

“Okay, but you forgot about your nightmare, didn’t you?”

Castiel had opened his mouth, then scratched his head. “I guess so…”

“All good, then,” Meg had decided, and nimbly jumped back down and stretched her hand towards Castiel. The small angel hesitated a moment, but the grabbed it and left the room with her. “Next time try not to scream so much,” Meg kept talking as they walked away to their own room.

Dean had thumped his head against the doorframe. “I can’t do this anymore,” he’d muttered, for what must have been the hundredth time.

Sam had huffed and started getting out of the bed (now he was awake he might as well go to the bathroom) when Castiel had returned once again, run to him and put his arms around his neck.

“Thank you, Sam,” he’d said. Then he’d run to Dean, hugged him around the waist and said: “Thank you, Dean.”

He’d left the room like it was the most normal thing to do. Sam couldn’t hold back a smirk.

“I don’t know,” he’d told Dean. “If you think about it, they’re kinda cute.”

After that, it was obvious they needed help falling sleep. Sam figured the easiest way was to let them run until they passed out from exhaustion, but Dean was having none of that.

“Bath, story, bedtime,” he’d numbered, with the seriousness that Sam had only seen him adopt when they were planning a complicated hunt. “It’s not that hard and it’ll keep them from ripping their clothes to shreds.”

Sam had been skeptical, but to his surprise, Dean had been right once again, so they’d adopted those steps into their routine. The only problem was that the following day, the kids woke up with renewed energies, so they had to if they wanted to keep up. It was weird: for the first time in ages, the Winchesters had a sleep schedule that wasn’t incredibly fucked up.

He sat at the edge of the bathtub, where Cas was making bubbles with his hands and squealing in delight.

“I promise this won’t be forever, Cas,” Sam told the angel. “We’ll find a solution in no time.”

Castiel raised his eyes at him. They had always been big, but now that they were frame by such a small face, they looked ridiculously huge. “I know you will, Sam. Thank you.”

That was a very Castielish thing to say, and Sam was relieved that at least that hadn’t changed that much.

“What I don’t get,” he commented, expressing his thoughts out loud for the first time. “It’s when Dean became so good at this… taking care of kids stuff.”

A bubble popped on Castiel’s nose and he blinked to avoid the soap get in his eyes.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” the angel said. “He took care of you while you were growing up.”

Sam reckoned that was true and couldn’t hold back a smile. He extended a towel for Castiel to get up and after the angel was dried and put his pajamas on, he tried to get him out of the bathroom.

“Come, on, buddy. It’s bed time.”

“But Sam,” Castiel protested. “I hadn’t brushed my teeth.”

Sam let out a huff, skipped all the explanations of why Cas’ teeth wouldn’t rot since he was a supernatural creature, and just helped him get on the stepping stool so he could reach the sink. The angel spent three good minutes making sure every part of his mouth was properly brushed, and only then he took Sam’s hand and followed him into the library.

Meg was sitting in the middle of a Devil’s Trap in her nightgown, with both arms and legs crossed, and she appeared to be having a really intense stare contest with Dean, who was sitting right outside the circle in the same exact position, glaring at her.

“Dean, let her out,” Sam sighed.

“You heard him, let me out!” Meg yelled.

“Not until you learn to show some respect, young lady!” Dean replied. Meg stuck her tongue out in his direction, and made a very loud farting sound. “And don’t make faces at me!”

Sam also passed up from explaining Dean that Meg wasn’t really his daughter, so putting her in time out and yelling at her would do absolutely nothing to modify her behavior. Instead, he reached for the knife inside his pocket and broke the Trap.

“Come, Meg, it’s time to go to bed,” he said.

“I don’t want to go to bed, I think I’ll just stay here,” Meg said, lifting her chin, defiantly.

“Please, Meg,” Castiel asked, and he seemed at the edge of tears. “Don’t you want me to brush your hair while Sam reads to us?”

Meg shifted awkwardly in her place, and after ten more seconds, she stood up and grabbed Castiel’s hands, but she was still frowning, like she thought she had been emotionally blackmailed out of her convictions. Sam would have laughed, if he hadn’t been so exhausted.

Five chapters of the  _Two Towers_ later, Meg’s dark hair was all fluffy and soft, and she was slumbering with her face hidden in Castiel’s tummy, who was also yawning and fighting to keep his eyes open.

“One more chapter,” he begged Sam.

“No, you need to sleep now,” Sam whispered, because if Meg woke up, they’ll have to do it all over again. “Close your eyes, come on.”

Castiel pouted, but then he obeyed. A few seconds later, his breathing had become regular and deep. Sam turned off the lamp, covered them carefully and tiptoed out of the room.

“Thank God,” Dean sighed when Sam informed him the two little literal monsters were done for the day.

“I hear you,” Sam yawned as he sat in front of his brother. “I’m going to do some more reading….”

“Oh, no, Mommy, you need to get some sleep too,” Dean said, grabbing Sam by the elbow.

“M’fine,” Sam protested, but Dean was having none of it. He dragged Sam to his bedroom and practically pushed him on the bed.

“Don’t be difficult,” he said. “Do you need to get your hair brushed too?”

“Shut it,” Sam yawned again. “Wake me up if any of them has a nightmare.”

“I think I can handle that.”

Sam meant to tell him that he didn’t his way of “handling it”, but before he could formulate the words, he was already out.


	4. Blackmail

Meg was rhythmically tapping her fingers on the table, shifting in her seat every so often, and letting out increasingly dramatic sighs. Dean tried with all his might to not pay attention to her, but when Meg put both her elbows on the book he had just reached for, and sighed even louder, he lost it.

“Could you stop?” he asked.

Meg just looked at him with incredibly wide and clean brown eyes, but Dean could have sworn there was the tiniest flicker of black in them.

“I am  _bored_ ,” the demon stated.

“Go play with Castiel,” Dean growled.

“Can’t. He went out with Sam for groceries,” she said, rolling her eyes like she couldn’t believe Dean wouldn’t remember that.

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“’Cause Sam said he couldn’t keep an eye on both of us all by himself,” Meg said, ignoring Dean’s tugging at the book she had pinned down. “Take me somewhere. Cas gets to go everywhere but all I do is sitting around this bunker.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so annoying and you let us work…” Dean said, and tried to pull the book again, but to no avail. Meg might have the fragile look of a ten year old girl, but she was still a demon, and therefore, stronger than him, and infinitely more persistent.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“A spell,” Dean replied, abandoning the book to get back to his notes.

“What sort of spell?” Meg kept asking.

“A spell to get you to shut up,” Dean said, categorical.

Meg stuck her tongue out, but before she could make the farting noise, Dean grabbed her by the nose. Meg flailed her arms in the air, trying to escape his grip, a moment which Dean used to snatch the book away. He let go off Meg, who dangerously stumbled on the edge of the chair before recovering her balance and glaring at him.

“I know what sort of spell,” she said, in a resentful tone, crossing her arms.

“Oh, yeah?” Dean muttered, turning the pages of the book.

“Yeah,” Meg said. “A counter-spell. You’re trying to make me and Cas grow up.”

Dean hummed distractedly, trying to decipher the handwriting in front of him. Dammit, the Men of Letter were worse than doctors, he could swear…

He jumped when he saw Meg’s head coming to rest in the middle of all his notes.

“What the…? Meg, get off the table right now!”

Meg frowned, pensively, like she was considering Dean’s orders.

“Nah,” she said in the end.

“I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not down…”

“I know how to reverse the spell,” Meg said, in a mocking singsong. “I know what ingredients you need.”

“What?!” Dean exploded. “You knew this whole time?”

Meg rolled to lie on her stomach and nodded.

“And you didn’t tell us?”

“You didn’t ask,” she shrugged.

“Well, then tell me!” Dean demanded.

“It’s gonna cost you,” Meg informed him, in the same singsong tone.

“Oh, you little…!” Dean began, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. Right. Demon with a ten-year-old mentality. Which was a short way to say ‘most annoying kid ever.’ “Fine. Name your price.”

The grin that appeared on Meg’s face sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.

 

* * *

 

Dean swore to everything he held dear that if he ever laid his hands on Rowena, he was going to gut that bitch like a fish.

“Well, it could have been worse,” Sam tried to console him, as they escorted Cas and Meg to the entry of the amusement park. He would live to regret those words.

Dean thought they were going to get in, go through a couple of attractions and then call it a day, and, oh God, he was wrong. Meg and Cas were immediately swooped in by the general enthusiasm of all the other kids in the place, and spent the better part of two hours simply running around in excitement, with Dean and Sam barely able to keep up. All in all, it was a blessing Cas had forgotten how to use his wings, ‘cause otherwise they’d never been able to catch them.

“Oh, what a loving father you are!” a grandma with a funny hat commented upon seeing Dean running to Cas after the third time he lost sight of him.

“He’s not actually my father,” Cas said, in a matter-of-fact tone that did not fit at all with a kid his age. Dean had then to remind himself Cas had been around since the freaking creation. “The Lord is my father.”

“Of course, sweetie,” said the old woman, pinching Castiel’s cheek. “Because you are a little angel, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. Dean awkwardly thanked the woman and dragged Castiel away.

They found an exasperated Sam and a sulky Meg in the row for the Ferris wheel.

“What happened to you?” Dean asked.

“We got kicked out of the Haunted House,” Sam informed him. “She kept telling the other kids everything was fake.”

“Well, it was!” Meg screamed, giving a little kick on the floor. “Decomposing bodies don’t even look like that!”

At least five people turned to them with a look of concern in their faces.

“How about we go for ice-creams?” Dean asked, in a falsely cheery tone.

“Yes!” Sam approved, as he hurriedly dragged Meg out of sight of all those people. “Good idea!”

They sat down in one of the park’s bench, with Meg and Cas licking their cones enthusiastically.

“This is so delicious,” Castiel commented, as he looked fascinated at the cone. “Thank you so much, Sam.”

“Sure thing, buddy,” Sam said. “Just try not to…”

Too late: Castiel opened his mouth and bit a big chunk. A few seconds passed, and then his delighted expression turned to horror as the brain freeze set in. His blue eyes widened, and started waving his arms and shaking his head.

“Put your tongue to your palate!” Sam instructed. “Cas, just swallow and put your tongue against your palate.”

Meg snickered with a sort of perverse satisfaction as she kept licking her own ice-cream.

“Well, you got your day in the park. Literally,” Dean said, hoping all the things they’ve done so far was enough to please Meg. “Are you ready to tell us about the spell?”

“What? Oh, yeah, sure,” Meg said, with studied indifference. “I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

“You’re not done yet?” Dean huffed. A huge beam appeared on Meg’s face.

“Nope,” she said. She put the rest of the ice cream in her mouth, and then pointed a little finger at some point behind Dean’s back. “I want to ride _that_.”

Dean’s face turned green when he saw what she was pointing at the roller coaster.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this,” Sam said as they stood in the queue with the rest of the parents and their hyperactive children.

“No!” Dean lied. “It just… you know. Looks a bit tall and… windy. Kinda like a plane, but without all the metal. And the parachutes. Know what I mean?”

Sam’s laughter was interrupted by an indignant scream.

“What do you mean I’m too short for this ride?!” Meg yelled at the roller-coaster’s operator.

“I’m sorry little girl,” the operator shrugged and pointed at the sign. Meg’s head was a couple of inches under the mark. “Maybe next year.”

Meg’s cheeks turned red with fury, and before any of the Winchesters could stop her, she jumped and grabbed the man by the lapels of his uniform and pulled him down so brusquely the man had no option but to stare at her up close.

“Listen to me, you pathetic little roach,” she growled. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? I’ll put you through such an unbelievable pain that you’ll be begging for the sweet relief of death, but even your immortal soul will have the scars of what I will do to you seared into it…”

“I’m sorry!” Sam said, with an awkward smile as he pulled Meg away from the terrified operator. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know where she picks up this stuff from!”

“No more horror movies for you, young lady,” Dean added, gripping Meg’s shoulder tight as the man stood up with Sam’s help and dusted himself off. “Now, apologize to the nice sir.”

“He’s not nice and I won’t!” Meg protested, stomping the ground.

“Dean, leave it,” Sam muttered. “Everybody’s staring.”

He was right: everybody other parent in the queue was eyeing them with contempt, like they were some sort of terrible parents who couldn’t control their kids. Dean felt the rush of blood to his head, but he refused to back down.

“No. She needs to learn some manners,” he said, kneeling in front of Meg. “See, when you complain that we don’t take you anywhere? This is why. So you either apologize or you won’t see the light of day again until way after we fix you.”

Meg gritted her teeth, and for a moment, Dean thought she was going to spit another threat, but in the end she turn to the operator.

“Sorry,” she muttered, reluctantly.

“It’s fine,” the man said with a tense smile. “Been working at this park for ages. Kids say the darndest things.”

Sam smiled back before they hauled away their little monsters. As they were walking away, the shoelaces of the operator came undone, and he stumbled and ended with his face on the ground. Meg looked way too satisfied not to have anything to do with that, but as she promptly pointed out to Dean, he couldn’t really prove anything.

“What? We’re leaving?” Cas asked when he saw they were heading for the parking lot.

“Yes, Cas,” Sam answered.

“But I wanted to try those!” Cas protested, pointing at the shooting games.

“Those things are rigged. It ain’t even worth it,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“Please!” Castiel said, putting his hands together in a begging gesture. “Please, please, please!”

The Winchesters exchanged a look and Sam shrugged.

“Fine,” Dean sighed. “One game.”

Castiel chose one that consisted on shooting down porcelain ducklings. He weighed the revolver on his hand, staring at analyzing it for a long time while the park employee cast some very eloquent glances at his clock.

“Sir, you need to tell your kid to shoot already,” he told Dean after a while. “There are other people…”

A loud shot followed by the noise of porcelain crashing interrupted him. Castiel pulled the trigger five more times in rapid succession, and all the ducklings exploded equally loud. The little angel put the revolver down, pensively.

“You were right, Dean,” he commented. “It was rigged.”

Dean didn’t even dare to ask what had he done to hit all the targets then. They made their way back to where Sam waited with a sulky Meg. Castiel refused to let Dean carry the stuffed bear he’d won, even though it was almost as big as the angel, and soon it became obvious why.

“Here, Meg,” he said, offering the bear to the demon. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to ride the roller coaster.”

Meg was obviously taken aback, and for a moment, Dean thought she was going to reject the bear.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered in the end, snatching it from Castiel’s hands. Her face was red again, but the brothers suspected this time it was for an entirely different reason.

 

* * *

 

After the fireworks, Dean loaded everyone in the car, ignoring Cas and Meg’s protests, but five minutes later they were snoozing in the backseat, with their heads hidden in the teddy bear’s belly.

“Ugh, finally,” Sam sighed.

“When did we become like this, Sammy?” Dean asked, dramatically. “When did our lives start revolving around the kids?”

Sam bitchfaced so hard it must have hurt him, but Dean chuckled anyway, feeling like he always did when he just finished a job. After this, Meg would tell them the ingredients for the counter-spell and it’d all be over.

Except because when they finally got to the bunker, Meg was too sleepy to tell them anything. She babbled something incomprehensible when Sam tried to get her out of the car, and then promptly fell back asleep with her head on Sam’s shoulder and her arms around his neck.

“I guess it’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow,” he told Dean, who was carrying an equally exhausted Cas on his shoulder.

“I just had a horrible thought,” Dean said later on, after they’d put the kids to bed, while they both sat on the couch with a beer, too tired to even pretend they were going to keep digging. “What if she was lying? What if she doesn’t know anything? What if they stay like this forever?”

“Well, we’re bound to find a solution eventually,” said Sam, refusing to let Dean’s panic suck him in. “And we can handle it. I think we did a good job today, don’t you?”

Dean thought about the only moment of peace they had that day: when the fireworks started shooting to the sky, and they all stood together in silent awe. Meg had squeezed the teddy bear, and held Cas’ hand, and Cas had held Dean’s hand and Dean and Sam had just stood so close to each other their shoulder brushed, and Dean had wondered if maybe Sam was remembering the fireworks they had lit together on that 4th of July, many years before. And despite everything, Dean couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Yeah. I guess so.”


	5. Favoritism

“What do you mean you lied?!”

Meg looked up at Dean from her chair. She and Castiel were having cereal for breakfast in their pajamas, and the little demon almost looked irritated at the interruption of her peaceful morning routine.

“I lied,” she repeated, with an indifferent shrug. “Do you need Castiel to explain to you what that means?”

“No, I don’t…”

“Lying is when you say something that isn’t true,” Castiel clarified, glad at the simple fact he could be useful. “Like when Meg said she knew a way to reverse Rowena’s spell.”

Dean threw his hands in the air and turned to his brother, who was having coffee at the same time he went through the pages of a book as thick as Bible.

“Why are you so calm about this?” Dean thundered.

“Well, you can’t say that’s completely unexpected, Dean,” Sam replied, taking a sip from her coffee. “She is a demon, after all.”

Meg took another spoonful of her cereal and smiled wide at Dean. She didn’t seem particularly demonic with the sugary fruit loops stuck in between her teeth and her nightgown full of little roses. In fact, she looked exactly like she was: the most annoying, naughty little girl in the universe.

Dean flopped down on his chair, defeated. “Do you get some sort of sick pleasure out of torturing me?” he asked Meg.

“Yes,” she confessed, bluntly. “But I don’t really feel bad about it because Cas is your favorite after all.”

Dean exchanged a confused look with his brother, who had finally heard something worthy of his attention to look up from his book.

“We don’t have favorites, Meg,” Sam said, trying to add a chuckle for effect.

“Yeah, you do,” Meg replied. “And I’m yours.”

She drank up the milk that was left on her bowl, like that simple gesture was everything she needed to settle the matter.

“We don’t have favorites,” Dean repeated. “Cas, do you think we have favorites?”

Cas’ eyes bored heavily into Dean, like he was reflecting on how to answer a very complex question.

“We don’t!” Dean insisted.

“See, Dean,” Castiel said, pointing a small finger at him. “That’s another example of a lie.”

 

* * *

 

Dean had no idea why the issue bothered him so much, but for the following two days, he did everything he could to prove to their kids that he most certainly did not favor one over the other.

“Okay, first of all,” Sam protested when his brother interrupted his research to ask for his help in that endeavor, “they’re not _our_ kids. And second of all, they’re not entirely wrong, you know.”

“How could you say that?” Dean protested. “Of course they’re wrong.”

“Well, if you think about it, you always got along with Castiel better,” Sam pointed out. “Profound bound and all that stuff. And Meg and I, well… we go way back.”

“Yeah, but things are different now,” Dean argued. “They gotta know we appreciate them and treat them equally.”

“Why? Because otherwise we’ll damage their precious little psyches?” Sam chuckled. “Cas is a million years old heavenly warrior and Meg has clawed her way out of hell on several occasions…”

“I don’t think they remember any of that,” Dean interrupted him. “I mean, look at them.”

Sam peaked around the corner, where Castiel was on the couch reading a book while Meg practiced her boxing moves with the oversized bear Castiel had won for her at the amusement park.

“It’s like Rowena gave them some sort of clean slate,” Dean continued. “Maybe we should… I don’t know, help them deal with it or something?”

“Right,” Sam muttered. “Right, that’s a good idea…”

“It is?” Dean asked, surprised.

“No, your idea is actually kind of weird,” Sam said. “I mean Rowena. She’s had enough time to figure some sort of solution. We should contact her.”

“Of course,” Dean nodded. “How do we do that?”

The two brothers looked at each other in confusion for a moment. Sam raised a finger, then put it back down like he’d realized whatever he was going to say was a stupid idea.

“What?” Dean said. “Whatever it is, it’s a whole lot more than what I got.”

Sam kept looking at some point over Dean’s shoulder until he turned around to see Meg was systematically pulling out the books from the shelves and putting them back in all the wrong places.

“Hey, Meg,” Sam called her. “What are you doing?”

“Dean ordered them this morning,” Meg explained with a playful smirk in her lips.

“Of course he did,” Sam said, putting a hand on Dean’s forearm before he began shouting. His brother’s face got red with anger, but he remained quiet. Sam couldn’t believe Meg had actually come to consider challenging Dean’s sanity as an acceptable form of demonic activity, but there they were. “Actually it’s a good thing you’re here. We need your help.”

“What do I get?” Meg asked, without stopping her relentless messing around of the books.

Sam considered asking her what did she want, but after the amusement park experience, he knew that’d be a mistake.

“You can have ice cream for dessert,” he offered.

“What? No, they…” Dean began, but Sam hushed him up.

Meg glanced at them over her shoulder, interested. “Keep talking.”

“We need a way to locate Crowley,” Sam said.

“Why?” Meg asked, and then her big brown eyes started sparkling with glee. “Are we going to drown him?”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “We just have to talk to Rowena, and we figured, wherever Crowley is, she must be too.”

“Oh,” Meg looked a bit disappointed. “Okay. I’m gonna need a map, some chicken blood, some herbs and chocolate chips.”

Sam frowned, confused.

“For the ice cream,” Meg clarified.

Most of the things she needed they found on the Men of Letter’s storage room, except for the chicken, which Sam had to go out to steal from a farm a few miles down the road.

“Don’t ask,” he said when he joined the other three in the basement, with his blackest attire covered head to toe with feathers. Meg was preparing the spell, kneeling atop of a stool in order to reach the table.

“Thank you,” she said, and held up a knife.

“Woah, woah,” Dean said, grabbing her little wrist. “Why don’t you let Sam do that?”

“Why? You think I can’t do it?” Meg asked, crooking an eyebrow in Dean’s direction.

“No, I’m just…”

“Don’t worry,” Castiel petted the chicken. “Your death will be quick and painless and you’ll be dying for a good cause.”

Sam was tempted to point out how messed up the whole scene was, but he simply took the knife from Meg’s hand and sliced the chicken’s neck open. The blood dripped down to the bowl Meg had prepared, and after glaring at both the Winchesters, she leaned over it and started murmuring a Latin incantation. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur and magic as the little demon’s eyes turned black. She sank one finger in the blood, and let a single drop fall over the map, without interrupting her chanting. The drop moved around, marking a red trail across several steps before finally stopping and drying somewhere over New Jersey.

“There you go,” Meg said, satisfied.

“Huh,” Sam said, staring at the map. “I was hoping for something a little more specific.”

“Well, we would have needed human blood for that,” Meg argued. “A whole lot of it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, grabbing the dead chicken’s corpse. “And I know what we’re having for dinner…”

 

* * *

 

Between Meg’s almost constant “Are we there yet?” and Dean stopping every time Castiel got sick because “no way I’m having angel vomit all over my car”, the road trip to Jersey was long and tiresome.

“We should have left them home,” Sam muttered when they stopped to steal another chicken so Meg could get new directions.

“And find the place burned down when we got back? Not a chance,” Dean shook his head.

Luckily, as they got closer to a nice, small town with two-story houses, it wasn’t hard to ask around for the redheaded Scottish woman who’d just moved there with her little bundle of joy.

“Does this look like a place to raise a demon to you?” Dean asked as they drove down the suburbs.

“Hey, Clarence, look,” Meg said, pointing out the window at some children who were playing with water guns on their backyards. “I bet I can make the water boil from all the way here.”

“That isn’t nice, Meg,” Castiel replied with such seriousness in his small face that it was almost comical.

“Okay, fine,” Meg rolled her eyes. “How about I freeze it?”

Dean sped up before she could manage either of those pranks.

Rowena and Crowley lived in a house on a corner that had probably known better days. Now the grass was all grown, the windows’ glasses were broken and a couple of gables almost fell on their heads when they rang the doorbell. The minute they did, the baby began crying his lungs out and they heard Rowena cursing in Gaelic all the way to the door.

“You have no idea how long it took me to get him to fall asleep!” she screamed at them, irritated.

“Rowena?” Sam asked.

The witch was a mess: her long hair was tangled and dirty, and instead of the long black dresses they were used to seeing her wear, she was sporting a pair of sweatpants and a shirt with dry vomit on it. Her sharp cheekbones looked even sharper, like she’d lost weight, and there were deep dark circles underneath her eyes.

“What do you want?” she spat at them over Crowley’s screaming. The light bulb over them exploded, and Rowena cursed again as she turned towards the couch, where the fat baby Crowley had become was waving his fists in the air. “What now? Oh, I wish I didn’t shrink you to before you started growing your teeth!”

The Winchesters exchanged a couple of glances. Dean pointed at the inside of the house, which was as messy as its occupant, and Sam shrugged. They walked in, followed closely by their own little monsters.

“We just, uh…” Sam began. “We were wondering…”

His words were drown by the baby’s yelling, so Rowena threw her hands in the air and beckoned them to follow her into the kitchen. There were several melted candles over the counter and the table and empty bottles of formula all over the floor.

“Glass of Scotch?” Rowena offered them as she poured herself some.

“No, thanks,” Sam said. “Uh, we came to see if you’ve had come up with a counter-spell already…”

“Does it look like I have?” Rowena asked, opening her arms to encompass the chaotic state of her home. “I’ve been working on it every waking hour, and trust me, I’ve had a lot of those thanks to Fergus.”

“And?” Dean asked, cringing because he already suspected the answer.

“And there isn’t one,” Rowena spat. “I’m too good.”

She downed the whiskey in one long gulp as the brothers stared helplessly.

“You absolutely sure?” Dean insisted. “There’s no turning back, no fail-safe…?”

“None,” Rowena growled. “Those affected by the spell will grow up, eventually. But I can’t speed it up, or that little stinker would already… isn’t it a bit silent in here?”

The Winchesters raised their heads. The crying had stopped. Sam suddenly remembered how joyfully had Meg suggested drowning Crowley.

“Oh, no,” Rowena muttered, paling like she’d read his thoughts. “Fergus!”

She ran back to the living room with the hunters at their heels. They found Castiel and Meg sitting on the couch; the angel with the baby in his arms. He was making him bounce gently on his lap and making faces at him, so Crowley laughed and tried to grab Castiel’s nose.

“He’s actually not that bad this way,” he told Meg, who looked terribly bored. “Do you want to hold him, Meg?”

Meg eyes shone bright and she extended a hand to snatch the baby, but Crowley was faster. He grabbed a fistful of Meg’s hair, and pulled until the demon girl screamed.

“Oh, you little…!”

“Well, thank you very much for your time, Rowena!” Sam said, picking Meg up before she could do something unholy to the baby.

“Yeah, you too, Crowley,” Dean said, as he beckoned Castiel to give the baby back to his mother. “Keep burning that baby fat.”

“Wait!” Rowena called when they already had a foot outside the door. Her face was softened by a smile and looking at her that way, she almost seemed like a normal woman, a little overwhelmed by the burdens of maternity. “Come visit us some time, boys.”

Dean and Sam nodded, without making any promises, and hauled their little monsters outside. As soon as the door closed behind them, the crying and the Gaelic cursing started again.

“Well, that was a terrible waste of time and gas,” Dean commented.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. Then, with a look of horror in his face, he added: “What are we going to do now?”

Dean tapped his fingers on the wheel for a moment, staring at Meg and Cas through the review mirror.

“Buckle up, you two,” he ordered them before starting the car.

 

* * *

 

“There we go,” Dean said, putting the plates in front of Cas and Meg. “Chicken and tomato sandwiches for everyone.”

“Thank you, Dean,” said Cas, and he took a generous bite. Meg, on the other hand, cast a suspicious glance in Dean’s direction.

“What?” he asked, knowing he’d regret it.

“You forgot to cut the crust,” she said, pointing an accusing tiny finger at the sandwich.

“Right,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Give it to me, I’ll do it.”

“ _Nooooo_ , it’s fine,” Meg sighed, and pick the sandwich with the face a true martyr about to ingest something poisonous. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Meg, I’ll cut the crust,” Dean insisted.

“I’ll just eat it with the crust, Dean.”

“Gimme the goddamn sandwich!” Dean shouted, losing his patience.

Unluckily for him, Sam chose to walk in at that very second. Meg’s demeanor changed entirely: her shoulders sank, her eyes got bigger and watery, and her voice became a quivering sob:

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Dean!” Sam scolded him.

“I didn’t do anything!” Dean tried to defend himself.

Meg cried harder, and the lights in the bunker began flickering. Sam threw a glare in his brother’s direction and then kneeled next to Meg’s chair.

“Hey, Meg, don’t cry,” he pleaded with her, patting her in the back. “Do you want anything else for dinner?”

“Can I…?” Meg sniffed. “Can I have some pie?”

“Yes, of course you can,” Sam assured her, picking her up from the chair and carrying her away before Dean could protest. The older Winchester just stared at them in disbelief, especially when Meg looked over Sam’s shoulder, and stuck her tongue out in his direction as her eyes went pitch black. She really was Sam’s favorite, dammit, and she played him like a fiddle.

Castiel cleared his throat. When Dean looked at him, the angel was extending his empty plate at him.

“Can I have another, please?”

“Have at it,” Dean said, pushing Meg’s abandoned sandwich in his direction. Castiel was delighted.


	6. Permanent

“How do parents even do this?” Dean growled, sinking his head in his arms.

They were exhausted after a long day of aggressively playing tag around the bunker in order to tire out Meg and Cas. Which wasn’t particularly easy, because Meg kept getting caught in the hidden Devil Trap’s and Castiel kept forgetting this wasn’t some sort of battlefield, so jumping at people from the top of the shelves was not technically against the rules, but still sort of cheating.

Finally, though, they had gone to sleep and the brothers decided they deserved a couple of beers in the peaceful silence of the kitchen.

“I mean it,” Dean continued. “How do they not go insane?”

“I guess because they’re not stuck in the house with them all day long,” Sam groaned.

Dean raised his head at Sam, with his green eyes shining. “Now, there’s an idea…”

 

* * *

 

Charlie arrived eight hours later, because as she put it, she “just had to see this to believe it.”

“Oh, my God, you’re so cute!” she exclaimed as soon as she saw the kids.

Meg and Cas, who up until that moment were busy with some coloring books and crayons on the library’s table, looked up in perfect synchronization.

“And who are you?” Meg asked, with her usual bluntness.

“Hi!” Charlie said, offering them a hand that only Castiel was polite enough to get off his chair to shake. “I’m Charlie. I’m a friend of Sam and Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” Castiel smiled at her, all beatific and kind. “I like your hair.”

“Thank you!” Charlie chuckled. “I like your shirt.”

“Dean bought it for me,” Castiel said, looking down at his “I’m a pretty little angel” shirt. “Although in fairness I don’t know if I can be called an angel right now because my wings are too small to carry my weight and I can’t fly.”

“Well, I think it looks great,” Charlie said, not losing her smile at the comment. “And your wings will grow in time, I’m sure.”

Castiel seemed extremely pleased at that comment. Charlie looked in Meg’s direction. The demon had resumed her coloring as if nothing was going on and when she realized the hacker was gazing at her, she crooked an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t do small talk,” Meg stated.

“Meg, what did we tell you about manners?” Sam scolded her.

Meg sighed and showed Charlie a smile so forced it must have hurt. “Nice to meet you, Charlie,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Nice to meet you too,” Charlie replied, a little taken aback. “Okay, shall we?”

They followed her into another room where they could work while keeping an eye on Castiel and Meg. Charlie put her bag on the desk and took out her trustworthy laptop along with a portable printer. The Winchesters helped her plug the whole thing, and then she got to work.

“Are you sure about this, Dean?” Sam asked, shifting uncomfortable on his chair while Charlie typed away. “I mean, it seems a little…”

“What? Drastic? Desperate?” Dean offered. “Trust me, I know.”

“I was going to say permanent,” Sam muttered.

A heavy silence fell in the room, interrupted only by the purring of the printer.

“Well, I think it’s awesome,” Charlie commented. “A demon and an angel going to school with normal kids? It’s like the beginning of a wacky sitcom. Or a horror movie.”

The printer finished spitting out the papers and Charlie handed them to the brothers along with a pen. Dean stamped one of his fake signatures at the bottom of the page, but Sam seemed hesitant for a moment. He looked at the little monsters, who were still on the library behaving surprisingly good, and then at his brother, who was extending the pen at him, expectantly.

“It’s guess it could be a way to kick start their puberty,” he sighed, as he also signed the papers.

“Congratulations, Mr. Page and Mr. Page,” Charlie laughed. “You’re now the officially fake legal tutors of Megan Masters and Castiel Milton. Aren’t people gonna comment that’s an unusual name?”

“It’s never happened before,” Dean shrugged.

Charlie reflected about it for a second, and then nodded.

“Hey,” she added with a glint in her eyes. “Does this mean I’m the cool aunt now?”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel said for the hundredth time. “Are you sure we’re going to fit in here?”

He was standing in front of the school, with their small backpacks and their lunch boxes, holding hands with Meg like they always did these days.

“It’s a  _lame_  idea,” Meg said. “Why do we have to be here anyway? I’m a demon, and he’s like a million years old,” she added, pointing at Cas. “What could they possibly teach us here?”

“Come on, you guys,” Sam insisted. “We have to at least give it a shot.”

The two little monsters exchanged looks, like they were having a silent communication, and in the end, Meg shrugged and that seemed to be enough to convince Castiel.

They sat in the principal’s office (a man with a moustache so thick Groucho Marx would’ve envied it), presented the false documents Charlie had provided them with and lied through their teeth. So, business as usual.

“Why, of course, Mr. Page and Mr. Page,” he said. “We’ll be very glad to welcome your nephews into this institution. It’s so tragic that you lost both your sisters in such a short period of time.”

“Yes, it is,” Sam said, wondering if he should let out a tear for added effect. “It affected them a lot, so if they seem to act a little… off sometimes…”

“Absolutely understandable,” the director nodded. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Your children will find a very safe and social learning environment here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Dean smirked. “That’s all we ever wanted. To know our little ones will be safe.”

That was overkilling, so Sam cut the interview short and squatted next to Meg and Cas.

“Remember what we talk about,” he told them.

“No mention of anything supernatural,” Castiel started numbering, obediently. “No trying to cure anyone even if they promise to keep the secret. Stick to the story.”

He smiled, proud of himself for remembering. Sam turned to Meg, who had her little arms cross over her chest. Castile elbowed her.

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “No threats to torture anybody’s immortal soul into oblivion.”

“They’re going to be okay,” Dean said, optimistically, as they saw them walk into the classroom.

“Yes, of course they’ll be,” Sam said, in the same cheery tone.

 

* * *

 

Five hours later, they were still sitting in the Impala right outside the school (they had bought sandwiches and coffee in the little store around the corner) because they couldn’t bring themselves to drive away. Sam wasn’t sure what they were waiting for exactly. An explosion, maybe, or some other disaster of apocalyptic proportions.

“Sam, I’ve been thinking,” Dean said. “You said this looked a bit permanent and well… you’re not wrong. This is going to take years. Until they grow back up, it could be years. How are we going to go hunting with those two when they’re so unstable and immature like that? We can’t bring them along, we can’t leave them alone. And then they’ll become teenagers and get even more unstable and immature.”

“I know,” Sam said. He’d been having the same thoughts, but saying it out loud somehow made it seem more horrifying. “But what can we do? We have to take care of them…”

“I’m not suggesting we abandon them at the door of an orphanage,” Dean cut him off. “I’m saying maybe… we should… abandon something else.”

Sam turned to look at his brother. Dean was crossing his arms, embarrassed, like what he’d just suggested was a blasphemy.

“Are you saying we give up hunting?” Sam asked.

“Well, why not?” Dean said. “I mean, not abandon it completely, but… we can’t deal with that sort of thing now. And with all the books we got in the bunker, we could aid a lot of people, do research for them. You could be the new Bobby or something. I could get an actual job ‘round here… I know, it’s stupid,” he concluded. “Forget I even said it.”

Sam stared at his brother face, and wondered if he had been gathering up the courage to bring up that idea since before Meg and Cas got cursed. He knew he had been.

“I think is a great idea,” Sam said. Dean’s eyes lit up, and he had just started smiling, when they heard the school bell rang, and a few seconds later, Meg and Cas jumped into the backseat.

“Hey, how was that first day?” Dean asked.

“ _Laaaaame_ ,” Meg complained, dragging the syllables.

“It was amazing!” Castiel replied, jumping up and down in excitement as he adjusted his seatbelt. “We learned about marine biology, and Meg drew a whale and the teacher liked it, so she hanged it on the board.”

“Did she, now?” Sam couldn’t hold the laughter. Meg stuck out her tongue at him.

“Still lame,” she concluded.


	7. Routine

One Tuesday morning, Sam Winchester woke up and realized that for the first time in a long time, his sleeping schedule wasn’t absolutely messed up. In fact, that night he’d got eight full hours of sleep and he felt well-rested and happy. He even still had around half an hour to linger in bed before it was time to get Meg and Castiel ready for school while Dean made breakfast. Speaking of which, he also realized that his eating habits had become those of a sane person as well.

With the kids out of the bunker and Dean working as the bartender-slash-bouncer of the local bar, Sam found himself with a lot of free times in his hands. He went through a lot of archives and boxes he’d never had the time to explore before, and he put together a list of names of possible Men of Letter’s descendant. He also spent a lot of time reading a lot of online news and looking at the radars in the War Room, in case something was off. When something caught his eye, he’d call someone in Bobby’s old phonebook. Before he knew it, he had put together the old hunter’s network again.

Every once in a while, he remembered to check for spells or potions that had to with rejuvenation or age. But as the days went by, he did so less and less until the notebook where he wrote down everything that could be useful to fix Cas and Meg was simply abandoned in a corner of the library.

It was hard to believe, and Sam certainly wouldn’t if he hadn’t been living it, but the four occupants of the bunker had fallen into a peaceful, homely routine. It wasn’t exactly like he’d always imagined it would be, but his life had finally reached a semblance of normality.

Amazingly, it’d soon become apparent that Dean’s idea about the school hadn’t been so out there after all. Castiel seemed a lot happier and more active than he had been those past weeks, always ready to tell them about the friends he’d made, the things they’d learnt (most of which he already knew, but it was somehow a magical experience that someone explained them to him) and how pretty and kind Miss Lorelei, their teacher, was.

“Today she made us all go into the playground, and she showed us the beehive that was in one the tree branches,” Castiel told them when the brothers picked them up that day. “And Peggy was afraid to go near it, but I explained her that bees rarely sting if they don’t feel threatened, and Miss Lorelei gave me a gold star for knowing so much about bees!”

“Sounds like this Miss Lorelei is very nice,” Dean chuckled, amused.

“She’s not that great,” Meg snarled, looking out the window with a little frown. "And what kind of name is Lorelei?"

Sam would suggest that that impression came because Meg was just a tiny bit jealous, but that’d be a sure way to get his hair set on fire. In any case, the school was helping her too: the discovery of Art class and what she could do with some pencils and watercolors did wonders for what Dean had come to call her “attitude problems.”

Of course, that also wasn’t meant to last. One night, they were having dinner (some beef with salad, because Dean insisted Cas and Meg needed some green vegetables) and Cas, as usual, was babbling on and on about school.

“And then, Miss Lorelei…”

“Oh, my God!” Meg rolled her eyes so hard it was surprising they didn’t get stuck on the back of her head. “If I have to hear one more thing about that woman, I will explode.”

Castiel shut up and looked at his dish, mortified. Sam and Dean exchanged looks over their plates, and Dean shrugged.

“I don’t get your dislike for her, Meg,” Castiel said, after a while. “She likes you too. She’s always complimenting you about your drawings. Remember how she told you she wanted to talk to Sam and Dean about them?”

“She did that?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

Meg’s face went pale with anger.

“You’re such a snitch!” she accused Castiel, throwing a handful of peas at him.

“Hey!” Dean scolded her. “No food throwing!”

“Exactly when were you planning to tell us your teacher wanted to have a word with us, Meg?” Sam asked, in a calmer tone.

Meg tightened her lips in a fine line.

“Well, there is this rumor going in Hell that says that one day, all the flames will go out and it will become such a dark and cold place that it will be all filled with frost and ice,” she said after it was obvious Sam wasn’t letting the question slide. “That seemed like a good moment to tell you.”

“What did you do?” Dean asked, with a huff.

“Nothing!” Meg stated, defensively. “Why are you always assuming I do things?”

Dean tapped his fingers on the table, like a silent accusation.

“Okay, yeah,” Meg admitted. “But I swear, I don’t know what it was this time.”

“I don’t think it was a bad thing,” Castiel offered. “I mean, she didn’t seem angry…”

Meg’s glare was enough to make him go back to quietly eating his food.

“Okay,” Sam sighed. “I guess we’ll go tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up to a tiny figure standing near his bed. As he had been victim of Meg’s relentless pranks for several nights in a row before they started sending the pair to school, his first instinct was to check that his face wasn’t covered in shaving cream and that both his eyebrows were still the same size. After he was certain the integrity of his face was intact, he turned on his nightlamp.

“Cas?” he asked, when he realized it was the little angel standing there, holding a pillow against his chest. “What are you doing here, buddy?”

“Meg kicked me out of the room,” Castiel explained, pouting. “She’s mad at me for telling you about Miss Lorelei.”

“Okay,” Dean yawned and moved aside to make place for him. “Hop in.”

Castiel punched the pillow a couple of times before sinking his head in it. Dean turned off the light and turned around to keep on sleeping.

“Dean?” Castiel’s soft voice called in the darkness.

“Yes, Cas?”

“Do you think I should apologize to Meg?”

“Maybe,” Dean replied. “But make sure to tell her you didn’t mean to make her angry and that she should have told us herself anyway.”

“Is that going to make any difference?”

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean sighed. “Depends on exactly how mad she’s at you.”

“I’m crashing in your bedroom,” Castiel pointed out. “I think it’s safe to assume she is pretty angry.”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “I think we can say that.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. Dean had begun dozing off when the little voice came again:

“Dean?”

Dean sighed.

“Yes, Cas?”

“Do I really talk about Miss Lorelei too much?”

“Well, you could stand to talk about her a little less,” Dean admitted. “I think that’s part of what irritates Meg.”

“Why?”

Dean was too tired to go into the details of how the female psyche worked, so he simply mumbled: “Women are complicated,” before letting his brain slip into slumber.

“Dean?”

Dean opened his eyes. “What is it now, Cas?” he groaned.

“Can I have a glass of water?”

Dean got up to get it for him, even though he knew it meant he’d have to get up again two hours from now to escort Castiel to the bathroom. He’d already accepted it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

 

* * *

 

Dean was wearing a clean shirt and his best pair of jeans that day. He’d also combed his hair by his side, and he was fidgeting with his thumbs as they waited outside the classroom.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Sam asked, frowning.

“No!” Dean groaned. “Yes,” he admitted when his brother cast him a doubtful glance. “Look, it’s our first parent-teacher conference. I want to make a good impression.”

Before Sam could ask exactly what difference did he think some cologne would make, the classroom’s door open.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Page and… Mr. Page,” said Miss Lorelei, shaking each of their hands.

“Please, call us Sam and Dean,” Sam insisted.

Miss Lorelei showed them a radiant smile. She was a thin woman in her early thirties, with blonde long hair and green eyes. She wore a pen behind her ear, a buttoned-up shirt and a skirt that showed her shapely legs, and her gestures were delicate and fluid when she asked them to have a seat in front of her desk. It wasn’t hard to understand Castiel had such a crush on her.

“First of all, let me tell you how brave I think you are for taking in your niece and nephew,” she began. “Most people wouldn’t accept such an important responsibility lightly.”

“Well, we were in denial for some time,” Dean admitted, with a smirk. “But you know, we figured… they were family, so this was the least we could do.”

He added a wink for effect. Sam hoped in his heart that he wasn’t really flirting with the kids’ teacher, he couldn’t begin to number all the complications to their peaceful routine that would create… and he promptly began wondering when he had started to think about Meg and Cas as “the kids”.

“I can imagine, yes,” Miss Lorelei nodded. “Well, Castiel seems to be adapting rather well. He makes friends easily and he shows great compassion for animals and plants. He’s really such an…”

She put her hands together and hesitated, like she couldn’t find the word to describe him.

“Angel?” Sam suggested.

“Yes!” Miss Lorelei nodded. “But the same can’t be said for Meg. She usually prefers to spend the time on her own. Not because she’s shy or something like that, I just think she doesn’t consider her classmates… to be on her same level. To put it some way.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said. “We know exactly what you mean.”

“And last week,” Miss Lorelei continued, opening a drawer. “I told them to draw their homes and Meg’s work… well, see for yourselves.”

She handed Sam a big piece of paper covered with angry shades of red and orange, with some little stick figures hanging from hooks and the word “HELL” scribbled in black in the upper right corner. Sam winced and passed it to Dean.

“Well, it’s a bit disturbing,” Sam admitted. Although in fairness, Meg had technically followed the instructions to the letter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty faithful depiction,” Dean commented. “She even got the hooks right…”

Sam cleared his throat. Loudly.

“… of the set of this heavy metal video she saw,” Dean continued, with an awkward smile. “Yeah, we have to make sure she stops going on YouTube in our computers.”

“Please, do,” Miss Lorelei said. “Meg is obviously a very sensitive girl.”

“You have no idea,” Sam agreed.

Miss Lorelei walked them to the playground, where Castiel and Meg were waiting, sitting on the swingset.

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” Castiel asked.

Meg stopped her swing, stood up and stalked to take Sam’s hand with her chin in the air.

“We’re going,” Sam announced. “Say goodbye to your teacher.”

“Goodbye, Miss Lorelei,” Castiel said, with his big blue eyes open wide.

“Goodbye, Castiel,” Miss Lorelei said, ruffling his hair. She turned to look at Meg, who obviously had no intentions of saying anything until Castiel elbowed her on the ribs.

“Bye, Miss Lorelei,” she groaned through gritted teeth.

“Kids,” Dean said as Sam dragged the little monsters away. “They’re truly a gift, huh?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Miss Lorelei beamed.

On the other side of the playground, Meg was huffing with impatience.

“What’s taking him so long?”

“I don’t know,” Sam began to say, but then he saw Miss Lorelei taking the pen behind her ear and writing down something in Dean’s palm. “Oh, that little…”

“She’s giving him her number,” Castiel said. He sounded crushed. “Why is she giving him her number?”

“What do you think, genius?” Meg snickered.

Dean finally approached them with a smug smile.

“Everybody ready to go?”

“You’re unbelievable!” Sam snapped at him before he and Castiel turned his back on him.

“What?” Dean asked, the smile disappearing of his face. “Guys, come on! I wasn’t even trying…! Did you see me trying?” he asked Meg, because the other two had already walked away.

The little demon looked immensely pleased.

“Tell your eyebrows they’re safe from now on.”


	8. Secretive

“Wait, Meg,” Castiel said, holding the little demon’s hand. “We can’t cross until the light changes.”

Meg huffed with impatience.

“There’s not car coming in miles, Clarence,” she protested.

“Yes, but that is no reason to be imprudent.”

Meg rolled her eyes at him. Dean just had to choose that Frieday to take an extra shift at the bar, and then Sam had been too busy solving some crisis on the phone with a hunter to pick them up.

“You guys just wait there… no, not you, Tracy, you need to investigate further… just let me check this book…” he’d told them on the school’s phone.

“How long do you think it’ll take you to help your friend?” Castiel asked.

“It’s going to be a little long,” Sam had admitted. “No, not that, Tracy, that should take like ten minutes, at the most…”

Meg had ripped the phone from Castiel’s hands.

“Don’t worry Sam,” she’d assured him. “We can be there in no time.”

“No, Meg,” Sam had tried to protest. “You can’t just walk back here all by yourselves!”

“Well, we’re not waiting here like a couple of losers,” Meg had replied. “See you at the bunker, Sam.”

She’d hung up before Sam could keep protesting.

“Are you sure we should do that, Meg?” Castiel had asked, nervous.

“How hard can it be?” Meg had shrugged.

It turned out, with all the precautions and the looking at both sides before crossing the streets that Castiel forced her to do, it was way too slow for Meg’s very finite patience.

“Come on, Cas,” she complained. “It’s not like it’s going to kill us if a car runs over us.”

“No, but if a car crashes against us, it could end up destroyed,” Castiel pointed out. “And that wouldn’t exactly help maintain our cover.”

Meg had to reckon she hadn’t thought about it.

“Okay, but do you need to hold my hand all the time?”

Castiel looked down at their intertwined fingers, like only now he was noticing them.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, worried.

Meg turned around, as if to make sure that nobody was watching them, and then she growled a reluctant: “No.”

She pretended not to see the beam that appeared in Castiel’s face. She was too busy glaring at the semaphore, wondering if she should cause it to fall down in the middle of the street just to spite the angel and all the drivers, when she heard a happy, rumbling noise.

“You know, you don’t have to purr about it,” she mumbled, annoyed.

“I’m not making that sound,” Castiel said.

They looked around, disconcerted, until they located a trashcan behind them. They immediately forgot all about the semaphore.

“What do you think it’s in there?” Meg asked, as they piled up a couple of boxes so they could reach the lid.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, with his eyes shining bright. “It could be a raccoon looking for something to eat.”

“Do raccoons purr?”

Instead of beginning a dissertation about the sounds that raccoons could and couldn’t make, Castiel stood up on the boxes and looked inside the trash can. When he turned to look at Meg, the little demon just knew they were about to get in a lot of trouble.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, guys,” Dean asked as soon as the kids crossed the library’s threshold. “I was about to go look for you.”

“And Sam?” Meg asked.

Dean huffed, and turned to his brother, who was still on the phone with someone.

“Yeah,” Sam was saying, turning his body away like that somehow would make him invisible from his family’s inquiring looks. “I mean, we could definitely do that if you’re ever in town…”

“Well, what took you so…?” Dean stopped to gasp for air. Meg and Castiel exchanged a look as Dean kept breathing in… only to then release a noisy sneeze. “So long?” he completed, rubbing his nose against his sleeve.

“Castiel made us stop at every green light,” Meg complained. “And that’s disgusting. Don’t you have a tissue?”

“Says the girl who kills chickens with her own hands,” Dean commented. “Where are you going, Cas?”

“My room,” the angel replied, holding his backpack against his chest a little tighter than necessary. “So I can change and help you with dinner.”

“Alright,” Dean accepted, with a little shrug. Meg sat in front of Sam, took out her coloring book and her pencil case and began coloring without paying attention to anyone else.

“Yeah, okay. Bye,” Sam finally ended with his call and turned to Dean. “Hey, did you notice Cas backpack looked a little… I don’t know, stuffed?”

“How would you know?” Meg asked. “You were too busy flirting.”

Dean’s laughter made it impossible for Sam to ask the question again in all seriousness.

 

* * *

 

Castiel’s behavior became very secretive all through that weekend.

Sam couldn’t help but to notice that the small angel kept sneaking around the bunker and looking over his shoulder. Sometimes he’d snatch part of his food and hide it in his pocket. When Sam asked him about it, Castiel acted like he had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know what’s gotten into him?” he asked Meg.

She looked up from her coloring book with an exasperated expression. Even in that form, she still managed to crook an eyebrow like no one. “Why would I?”

“Aren’t you guys best friends?” Sam teased her.

“Doesn’t mean we’re married or something,” Meg shrugged, and went back to her coloring like whatever Sam had to say was utterly uninteresting.

“Cas is hiding something,” Sam told Dean that night while they washed the dishes. “And Meg is in on it, I’m sure.”

“No shit,” Dean said, and then sneezed all over the glass he was supposed to be drying.

Sam took a look at his brother, and only then noticed his bloodshot eyes, his leaking nose and his irritated glare.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Shut up, I always look hot,” Dean replied, offended, and then sneezed again.

“Maybe you’ve got a cold,” Sam suggested.

“Impossible. I never get sick,” his brother protested.

During the next day, however, it was obvious that Dean wouldn’t be of any help in finding out Castiel’s secret, not with his constant sneezing and loud swearing. Meg still avoided all of his questions, and Cas just looked at him with concern in his big blue eyes.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning that Sam decided he just had to get to the bottom of it.

He went to the little monster’s bedroom with the broom in his hands (normally it was Dean who took care of those things, but that morning he had woken up with his eyes so teary he was barely able to see as far as the end of his nose) and found Castiel guarding the door, like a watchdog.

“Hello,” he greeted Sam, tilting his head as if he was wondering what the hunter could be doing there.

“Hey, buddy,” Sam replied. “Uh… it’s cleaning time.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Castiel said, a bit too fast for him to sound convincing. “Meg and I will do it.”

“You’re going to get Meg to clean?” Sam asked, skeptical.

“Well, I’ll probably do most of it,” Castiel admitted. “But we know Dean was sick and we want to help, so…”

Sam realized there was no way Castiel was letting him in the room, and gave up. He found Meg on the library, reading a book with her feet up on the table even though they had told her thousands of times not to do that.

“Hey,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”

“The room’s a mess,” Meg said, passing the pages of the magazine.

“I thought you guys were going to clean…?” Sam pointed out.

“Castiel’s idea,” Meg said, categorical. “He’ll do it.”

Sam suspected there was an underlying motive, but interrogating Meg would get him nowhere.

“We need to get them out of the house,” he told Dean later, when he went to offer him some tea for his cold. “Take them to the park or something.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m dying here,” Dean complained and blew his nose. He had taken to carry a box of tissues with him wherever he went. If Sam wanted to find him, he just had to follow the snot trail.

“Come on,” Sam insisted. “Maybe fresh air will help you out too.”

“When has that ever helped anybody?” Dean groaned.

In the end, he agreed. Then it was the little monsters that needed some convincing.

“I don’t see the point,” Meg said, arrogant and seemingly annoyed. “Why would I go interact with other humans? I do that plenty on weekdays, and that’s more than enough.”

“Weren’t you the one who was always saying we never took you anywhere?” Sam pointed. Meg crossed her arms and looked away. Cas was at the edge of tears.

“Don’t make us go, Sam,” he pleaded, and for a moment, the hunter was about to back down. But his decision to get to the bottom of it all was stronger.

“Come on, you’ll have fun,” he assured them as he walked them to the Impala.

“Wait, you’re not coming?” Castiel asked, and there was downright panic in his voice.

“Oh, no, no,” Sam shook his head. “I need to do some research. See you, guys.”

Dean started the car, and the last thing Sam saw before they left the garage was Cas’ little face pressed against the window’s glass. As soon as they were gone, Sam ran upstairs and tried the kids’ room doorknob. Of course, they had taken precautions: there was some sort of strange Enochian sigil on the wood, but Sam wouldn’t give up so easily. He put his ear against the wood, and waited.

In the silence of the bunker, he heard exactly what he’d suspected. Of course. Now everything made sense.


	9. Socialization

There was a little voice inside Dean’s head that kept telling him this was a bad idea, but Sam had practically begged him to take them out somewhere so he could find out what Castiel was up to. However, if some random kid at the park ended up accidentally smitten, that was on Sam.

But so far, so good: he’d set them loose in the playground and was keeping a close eye on them. Meg had apparently been dared to a swinging competition, and so far she hadn’t abused her demonic powers to get some sort of advantage. Castiel had been a little harder to convince to get away and find something to entertain himself, but in the end he had been distracted by an ant carrying a leaf. Now he was on the side, squatting next to an anthill and observing them with his blue eyes wide open. He’d probably speak about the ants and their organization for hours on end later, but at least he was distracted.

 “It’s really great they have somewhere to socialize, isn’t it?” a rather large lady sat in the bench next to him commented.

“It is, indeed,” Dean said, breathing deeply.

He hadn’t felt so at ease in weeks, always running up and down to go to the bar, to pick up the kids, with a little voice in the back of his mind warning him it was a matter of time before Meg killed someone for looking at her the wrong way. Also, he was never going to admit it, but Sam had been right: he felt a lot better, his head was lighter and whatever it was that had been constricting his lungs for days on end was finally gone.

“Which ones are yours?” the mom asked.

“Uh, the girl with the black hair,” Dean pointed. Meg was still winning at whatever it was they were playing, and she looked really smug about it. “And that boy over there.”

“My, they’re so pretty!” the woman said. “I could eat them!”

“I’ll give them to you, free of charge,” Dean joked. The woman laughed loudly.

In that moment, Dean saw Castiel running towards where Meg was apparently assembling a cult of followers, and extended his hands with something in them. The other kids started to giggle, and Dean realized Castiel was standing on the tip of his toes, putting a small white flower in Meg’s hair.

“Oh, no,” Dean muttered to himself, as the kids began giggling louder and chanting. Meg didn’t seem offended at all, but Dean knew better than that. She was calculating exactly how much force she would need to imprint on her punch to send the main instigator flying across the playground. He stood up immediately. “Meg, Cas, time to go home!” he called them.

Meg looked at him, then turned to the kid who had been mocking her. She leaned closer, whispering something in the kid’s ear that made him go pale. Then she grabbed Castiel’s hand like it was nothing, and they walked towards where he was.

“What did you tell him?” Dean asked, almost fearing the answer.

“Nothing,” Meg said, and her eyes were so brown and so clear Dean almost believed her.

“Oh, you and your sister are so cute!” the mom commented.

“She’s not my sister,” Castiel said, and lifted their intertwined fingers as if to prove something. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Dean would have laughed at how pleased he looked at that but Meg squinted at the woman.

“You’re fugly.”

“Meg!”

“That’s alright,” the woman laughed again, although this time it sounded somewhat forced. “Don’t worry about it. My, look at the time! I must fly!”

She walked away swiftly.

“I don’t think she can fly,” Castiel commented. “We can still catch her.”

“Catch her? What…?” Dean began, but the two of them were already running after the lady. Dean was about to yell at them to get back there or else, but then he caught a glimpse of the woman’s reflection in the widows of the Impala.

Then it all made sense. She wasn’t there with a kid. She was there _watching_ the kids. And the comment about eating them…

Dean sprinted after Castiel and Meg, but by the time he caught up with them, they had already cornered the woman into an alley.

“Stay away from me!” she was screaming hysterically.

“Oh, please,” Meg rolled her eyes and stomped on her foot. Immediately, the woman’s façade fell apart: her eyes appeared as hollowed sockets, her skin decayed into a sickly paleness and her mouth became a pit full of teeth.

A mother changeling.

Dean looked around for something to throw at her, but then Castiel simply extended his hand and touched her forehead. With a bloodcurdling scream, the monster disintegrated into thin air.

“Castiel!” Dean shouted running at them.

“I’m sorry,” Cas seemed very embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to smite her, Dean.”

“It was my idea,” Meg jumped in his defense. “I heard her. She would’ve eaten us!”

Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he simply hugged them both tight against him.

“Nothing’s ever going to eat you, you hear me?” he said.

“Because you’re going to protect us?” Castiel inquired.

“No,” Dean smirked. “Because you two, little monsters, can take on anything.”

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Dean strutted into the library followed by the little monsters. Cas bolted in his room direction immediately. Meg, who was a far better liar, hanged around a little longer, taking out the books from the shelves and putting them back in all the wrong spots.

“Did you have a good time?” Sam asked, innocently.

“Yeah, actually,” Dean laughed. “You should have seen them. There was this woman and… and…”

The anecdote was interrupted by a massive sneeze. When Dean looked up again, he seemed incredibly frustrated.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

“I know, it’s weird, right?” Sam said. “It’s like… you are only sick when you’re here. In fact, I don’t think you’re sick at all.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. Then he opened his eyes wide as the realization dawn on him. He turned to the little demon, who had prepared her most innocent expression.

“It was Cas’ idea!” she defended herself. “I told him it was a bad one.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sam asked.

“’Cause unlike him, I’m not a snitch,” Meg shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up to go straight to the bedroom. Castiel had closed the door and barricaded it with more Enochian sigils.

“Cas, open up,” Sam called him. “I promise you’re not in trouble.”

There was a few seconds of hesitation, and then the door moved on its hinges on its own. Castiel was on the bed, surrounded by not one, but six meowing kittens, and was hugging a seventh to his chest. His eyes were glassy, like he was at the edge of tears.

“Somebody abandoned them in the dumpster, Sam,” he explained. “I couldn’t just leave them there.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Sam assured him. Dean appeared by the door, and sneezed again. He didn’t look angry anymore. It was more like he was completely resigned to his fate.

“Okay, but we’re not keeping _all of them_.”

 

* * *

 

The kittens were a success among Cas and Meg’s classmates, so it wasn’t really that hard to relocate them. By the time school was out, basically all of them were begging their parents to let them take one home.

“How are you going to call him, Castiel?” Sam asked, when they were driving back at the bunker with only two kittens left in the box.

Castiel had picked up the thinnest of the bunch, an orange tabby cat with a meow so quiet they had to put him against their ears to actually hear it.

“ _Mr. Whiskers_ ,” Castiel declared proudly, hugging him against his chest. “Because his whiskers are so long, see?”

_Mr. Whiskers_ purred happily, like he was very proud of having such an imposing name.

“That’s cute,” Dean said, but his raspy voice and his stuffy nose made it sound like he was groaning. “What about your little beast?”

“For the record, I didn’t want a cat,” Meg said, crossing her arms. “Maybe we should get him back to school and give him to Miss Lorelei. I mean, she does look like a future crazy cat lady anyway.”

“Come on, Meg,” Castiel insisted, pushing the box towards her. “Nobody else wanted him.”

Meg side, picked the last kitten in the box from the neck and held him in front of her with an unreadable expression. It was no wonder nobody wanted him. That was, by far, the ugliest cat Sam had ever seen: he was completely black, his fur was all bristled and his eyes had different colors, one hazel and one green, making his hateful expression look even more unbalanced and strange.

The kitten hissed at Meg, and Meg hissed back at him. And just like that, they seemed to come to an understanding.

“ _Mephistopheles_ ,” Meg decided, laying the kitten on her lap. “It suits him.”


	10. Restlessness

Dean woke up disoriented. He’d just had a weird dream that implied a Guinea pig stuck in the bar’s sink. The details were becoming fuzzy already, which was a shame because weird dreams were always a nice conversation topic while driving the little monsters to school. Speaking of which, even though the alarm hadn’t got off, he might as well start getting up. He might actually have time to have breakfast in peace. After all, it was only just…

“What the hell?!” Dean screamed when he checked the hour. It was half past ten.

He jumped out of bed, a string of his most original swearing falling from his lips as he grabbed the first pair of jeans he found lying on the floor. He bolted out of the room, barefoot and fighting the buttons of his plaid shirt, and burst inside Meg and Cas’ room.

“Get up!” he demanded. _Mr. Whiskers_ woke up with a jolt and looked around groggily, while _Mephistopheles_ hissed at him, with the hair of his back becoming all bristled. Dean didn’t pay attention to the cats and went straight to their masters, who had either not heard him or were blatantly ignoring him. “I said get up!”

Meg groaned and stole Cas’ pillow to cover her face with it, while the little angel blinked rapidly to get his eyes used to the light.

“Mmm… what?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Get up!” Dean repeated, opening the closet and grabbing clothes at random to throw at them. “You’re late for school!”

“But Dean…” Cas protested, weakly, before a shirt fell on his face.

“No buts!” Dean said. “I can’t believe you, guys! I oversleep _one day_ and none of you cares to wake me up and tell me we’re late!”

“Dean…” Cas tried saying again, while Meg turned around mumbling something and with all the intention to fall asleep again.

“Oh, you won’t, princess!” Dean said, snatching both pillows from Meg’s hands.

The small demon immediately proceeded to pull the covers over her head, and Dean didn’t dare to take those away because _Mephistopheles_ was staring at him with hate in his uneven eyes, like he would scratch the hunter to death if he dared disturb Meg’s fragile slumber.

“Fine!” he told the cat. “But you got five minutes to get dressed and get down for breakfast, or so help me…!”

He didn’t complete the threat. He was already running out of the room and into the kitchen, where he found Sam peacefully reading the newspaper and sipping from a cup of coffee.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Dean barked at his brother as he juggled with the milk, the cereals and a couple of bowls.

“Uh… good morning, Dean,” Sam tried, frowning.

“We’re going to be so spectacularly late…!”

“Late for what?” Sam asked, way too calmly for Dean’s taste.

“For school!” Dean said slamming the bowls down on the table and pouring the milk with so much rush he spilt some on the cloth. “Miss Lorelei is going to be mad, so I’m gonna have to convince Cas to do the kicked puppy eyes at her and…”

“Dean,” Sam put a hand on Dean’s forearm to stop him. “What day is today?”

“It’s Monday,” Dean replied, wondering what Sam was trying to get at. Then he understood what Sam was getting at. “It’s… June 1st,isn’t it?”

“School ended two days ago,” Sam nodded.

Dean sat down, with all the adrenaline abandoning him at once. He looked at the cereals, floating pathetically on the milk, and a terrible realization dawned on him:

“You mean they’re going to be staying here all the time? _For weeks_?”

“That’s what summer is about, yes.”

Dean looked up at his brother. He didn’t even have the strength to sass back at him.

“And what the hell are we going to do with them?”

 

* * *

 

The first thing to fly out of the window was the sleeping schedule the Winchester had so carefully imposed on Meg and Castiel. Now they really didn’t have any excuse to send them to bed and getting them up early, Meg stood with both her little feet firmly on the ground and declared she could stay up late watching old horror movies reruns if she wanted to.

“This is ridiculous,” Sam mumbled one time he was woken up at four o’clock in the morning by a bloodcurdling scream only to find it was coming from the TV.

“I know, right?” Meg said, without taking her eyes off the scream. “I mean, that’s not even how possession works.”

Sam stared at her round little face, and saw her blinking and yawning, obviously fighting with all her might to stay awake.

“Don’t you think it’s time you go to bed, Meg?”

“But I’m not tired, and this is the best part!” Meg protested. “This is where the chick rips the priest’s head off with her bare hands.”

“Fine,” Sam sighed, sitting next to her on the couch. “But only ten minutes more.”

Not even five minutes later, Meg was curled up against Sam, fast asleep. The hunter turned off the TV (Meg might have mumbled something about being watching that, but she was too far gone to make sense), picked her up and carried her down the hallway to tuck her into bed.

Cas, unlike Meg, was finding out mornings were very productive if you knew how to make the most of them. On one occasion, Dean came back from the store to find him outside the bunker’s door, lying on his stomach with his eyes narrowed. _Mr. Whiskers_ was next to him, with his head on the ground and waving his tail in the air from time to time.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Dean said. “What are you doing?”

“Hunting,” Cas replied in whisper.

“Why?” Dean asked, all the alarms in his brain going off at the same time. “Is there a monster around? Another mother changeling?”

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “But I saw a mouse in the bunker and chased it outside. Now I’m trying to find him again.”

“Right,” Dean chuckled. “And _Mr. Whiskers_ here is waiting for his lunch, I take it?”

“What? No!” Castiel raised his eyes at Dean, horrified. “I’m going to release him into the woods.”

“Of course,” Dean said, making a mental note to remind Castiel that cats were predators and if _Mr. Whiskers_ wouldn’t have the mouse, _Mephistopheles_ certainly would. “Well, don’t strain yourself, buddy.”

Castiel didn’t answer, his full concentration back on spotting the mouse who, if he knew what was best for him, would be very far away by now.

“You know, I think they’re getting a bit restless here,” Dean told Sam as they put the groceries in place. “Maybe we should load up Baby, take them somewhere…”

“Right, because a road trip with the two of them asking if we’re there yet every five minutes is going to be so much fun,” Sam huffed.

“Oh, come on,” Dean said. “It’s going to be sad if the go back to school and they have nothing to write in their _What I did this summer_ composition besides ‘watching terrible B movies’ and ‘hunting with the cat’.”

“I’m sure they’ll survive,” Sam said, rolling his eyes at Dean. "They'll be just fine staying here."

He would live to regret those words.

 

* * *

 

There was a moment of absolute quietness at the end of the first week in the kitchen when Dean whistled while cooking dinner and Sam was just absorbed by his book. From the open door, they could see the couch where Meg was napping peacefully, getting ready for another of her late horror movie sessions, while Castiel and the cats were nowhere to be seen or heard. Sam finished his chapter and he was just about to tell Dean that they were handling this pretty well when all hell broke loose.

First they heard a tapping so quiet for a moment Sam thought he imagined it, but it was promptly followed by a ferocious meow. When he turned around, again he saw _Mephistopheles_ jumping on Meg’s face. The little demon woke up with a curse, grabbed the cat by the neck and threw it away, which was apparently exactly what _Mephistopheles_ wanted, because he simply landed on his feet and started running madly around the library.

“What the…?” Sam asked, when Castiel and _Mr. Whiskers_ appeared apparently out of nowhere.

“No!” Castiel shouted. “Stop!”

He started running behind _Mephistopheles_ , who began jumping on the walls to stay away from the angel.

“Hey!” Meg said. “Leave him alone!”

And she too joined the chase, only she was still a little groggy from her nap, so she tripped and held on to a table to stay on her feet. But she did so with too much force, because the table gave in and almost fell on top of Mr. Whiskers. The cat gave out a terrified meow and climbed the shelves for refuge, knocking several books down in the process, some of them directly on Sam’s head, who was coming out of the kitchen to ask what was going on.

“ _Mr. Whiskers_!” Cas screamed. “Get down!”

He too began climbing, but Sam didn’t have time to stop him because the mouse passed running in front of his feet, followed by Mephistopheles who did not hesitate to sink his claws on Sam’s foot before jumping after the rodent. Sam howled in pain, and then howled again when Meg stepped over him to follow her cat.

By the time Dean came out of the kitchen, Cas was holding on to the top of the shelf with one hand while holding the cat on the other, and the thing was leaning because of his weight. Both hunters barely had time to exchange a look before Castiel jumped down and sprinted out just in time for the shelf not to collapse on his head.

Still, the crash against the floor must have resonated from miles around. Meg popped her head from the hallway, with Mephistopheles, who was happily chewing what appeared to be a mouse’s tail, in her arms.

“What was that?” the little demon asked.

Sam stared at the debris of what his library had been for a long, disheartening moment, and then at Dean.

“How about we get out of here for a while?” he suggested.


	11. Kites

The first few places the Winchester thought about were rejected on logical basis.

“Camping is discarded. We’re not setting them loose on the woods,” Dean said, even though Sam was in no way disagreeing with him on that. “Who knows, by the time they come back they’d probably have adopted a deer and named it _Bambi_.”

“I also don’t think it’s wise to go the mountains,” Sam added, looking at the road maps they had extended in front of them at the library’s table. “What if they scream and cause some sort of rockslide?”

“Who exactly are you taking us for?” Meg asked, rolling her eyes. Sam and Dean merely glanced at her until she shrugged.

“Or we could just stay here,” Castiel suggested, holding _Mr. Whiskers_ close to his chest.

“The cats are going to be okay for a couple of days, Cas,” Dean insisted. They’d had that argument about ten times already, but Castiel was not ready to let it go any time soon. “They’re cats. We even bought them one of those automatic feeders. The girl at the pet shop said it would be fine.”

“That was before or after she gave you her number?” Meg teased him.

Dean didn't dignify that question with a response and turned his attention back to the map.

“How about we go to the city, huh? Any city,” he suggested, opening his arms. “We could do some sightseeing in New York or…”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Meg said, yawning ostensibly. “I should know.”

The brothers exchanged exasperated looks, but they knew it was no use. The small demon was going to keep rejecting all of their ideas outright until they actually asked her what she wanted to do.

“Alright, Your Majesty,” Dean said. “Where do you want to go?”

A knowing smirk spread through Meg’s face. She stood up on the chair (to Dean’s dismay) and placed her finger on a spot on the upper part of the map. The Winchesters leaned over it.

“Huh,” Sam muttered. “That’s actually not a terrible idea.”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean said, caressing his chin with a thumb. “That’s a long drive. I don’t think I can make it that far without going insane.”

Meg’s smile disappeared immediately, like she had the presage her dreamed vacations were at danger.

“Okay, what’s the deal?”

“You stay quiet the whole ride,” Dean demanded. “You don’t scare the gas station employees for your entertainment. In fact, you tone down the whole demonic vibes until we get there.”

“Okay, fine,” Meg mumbled, even though it was obvious she didn’t like that idea one bit.

“Promise it,” Dean said, offering Meg his hand.

Meg looked down at it, like she thought it hid some sort of trap, and then, reluctantly, she grabbed and shook it. Only Castiel saw that she crossed her fingers behind her back while doing it, but before he could point it, Sam let a happy, relieved sigh.

“I guess we’re going to the beach.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later, the brothers were lounging about on deck chairs planted firmly on the sand, under the bright Michigan sun, with their sunglasses covering their eyes and a cooler full of beers between them. They were not entirely sure where Meg and Cas were, but not entirely sure they cared either. The trip was turning out to be unexpectedly pleasant, once Castiel got over his anxiety.

“We have to be back on Wednesday at exactly twelve forty four a. m.,” he’d informed them not even two hours into the trip.

“Why?”

“Because that’s the approximate time when the cats will run out of food and water,” Castiel had explained shifting nervously in his seat and double checking the math he’d made in a small red notebook.

“They’ll be fine, Cas,” Sam had assured him for the thousandth time.

“But what if…?”

“Five days, Cas,” Dean had cut him off. “We’re gonna be gone just for just five days. They won’t even notice we’re not there, I promise you.”

Castiel remained stubbornly unconvinced.

“Do you think they’re going to be okay?” he’d asked, turning to Meg.

“Well, I don’t know about your weak-ass cat,” the little demon had replied, with a shrug. “But if something happens, I know _Meph_ won’t be scared to resort to cannibalism.”

Dean reckoned Meg’s appreciation of her cat’s survival skills were pretty accurate, but the acute gasp of horror that had come out of Castiel’s mouth indicated it was best if the hunter refrained from saying so.

“I’m kidding, Cas,” Meg had huffed, as usual annoyed nobody seemed to appreciate her very particular sense of humor. “They’ll be alright.”

In the end, it was three against one and they had just passed by sign that announced them they’d just crossed the Kansas state line, so Castiel didn’t have much of a choice but to worry silently for the next twelve or thirteen hours.

It was sundown by the time they’d reached their destination, and everybody had been woken up from their slumber by an overexcited Dean.

“Come on, guys!” he’d said, his enthusiasm relentless on the face of his family’s yawns and protests. “You have to see this.”

The waters of Lake Michigan had glimmered red and orange under the darkened sky, and Meg had rolled the windows down and popped her head out to let out an exclamation of joy (Later, she would deny making such a sound). Sam had breathed in deeply, and looked at the backseat to see Castiel staring at the sight with his eyes wide open.

“All that water,” he’d mumbled. “I don’t think _Whiskers_ would’ve liked it.”

To the brothers relief, that had been the last time he’d mentioned the cats.

It was downright strange to roll into a small town and check into the motel where they already had a room waiting for them, and not start pinning data into a wall or surfing the Internet for information about a case. Instead, they had dropped their bags and on Meg’s insistence, hit the lake’s beach early on the following morning.

“Come on, come on,” Meg had moaned, kicking the floor impatiently. “They’re going to take away all the good spots.”

“Take it easy, tiger,” Dean had said. “You ain’t going anywhere without your solar screen.”

“We’re not going to get sunburned!”

But Dean wasn’t risking it, so the little monsters weren’t allowed outside until they were daubed in the stuff.

Apparently, that had been the limit of Dean’s concern, because it was two hours later and he was snoring in his chair, still not recovered from the long drive. Sam couldn’t help but to smile at the unusual sight of Dean sleeping peacefully without having to black his mind out with alcohol. In fact, he’d only taken a few sips from the bottle that now hanged from his fingers. He was wearing a pair of ridiculous red shorts under his unbuttoned shirt, and when Sam had made fun at him for his looks, instead of getting all defensive, Dean had simply shrugged and said he didn’t want to stand out at the beach.

Sam was thinking it was strange how everything had turned out when he saw Meg running at him (he identified her by her violet swimsuit) with her black hair floating behind her and her face red from the effort. She had lost one of her sandals along the way, but she didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Sam, Sam!” the little demon called. “I need ten dollars!”

“Why?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes with mistrust. “Are you hungry? ‘Cause we have sandwiches…”

“No, that’s not it,” Meg said, waving her arms with urgency, and then she started talking really fast and loud about a group of kids she had encountered at the far end of the beach, and how they all had kites and were going to participate on a kite fight and she wanted in but she needed ten dollars to buy herself a fighting kite.

Sam was a little stunned by the end of it. “What the hell is a kite fight?”

“They fly kites and they make them fight,” Meg explained with exasperation, like she thought Sam was being obtuse on purpose.

“And why is this so important to you?”

“They _challenged_ me, Sam,” Meg said. “I can’t let them get away with it.”

Castiel came running after Meg, with the lost sandal in his hand.

“Meg, you need to be more careful,” he scolded her. “You could have stepped on a glass.”

Dean stirred by Sam’s side. “Just give her the money,” he said.

Sam leaned over to the right to pick up the backpack. When he sat up again, Castiel was kneeling in front of a red-faced Meg, helping her put her sandal back on.

“Shut up,” Meg groaned.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam pointed out, although he couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

Meg snatched the bill from his fingers without even a “thanks” and ran in the opposite direction again, followed closely by Castiel.

Dean took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Seems like they’re having fun,” he commented.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Hey, do you think we should go check out this… fight or whatever?”

“Nah,” Dean replied.

They sat in peaceful silence, staring at the lake’s water moving lazily under the soft wind, until a horrible thought crossed Sam’s mind:

“Wait, what if she loses?”

 

* * *

 

There were at least four kids holding kites and getting them ready to fly. Meg was the only girl. She had chosen (of course) a violet one that seemed a little small compared to the others, but she was testing the rope and glancing distrustfully at her competition with determination. A small crowd, composed mainly by parents and curious passers-by had gathered around some cones placed to give the competitors enough space to run.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted the small angel with a mouthful of peanuts.

“Hey,” Castiel smiled at them. “Are you here to cheer Meg on?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, offering him some peanuts. “So what’s this thing about again?”

“Well, it’s a very ruthless sport,” Castiel said. “Every kite has a sharp edge, and every competitor has to try to cut their opponents line or bring the kite to the ground.”

“Ruthless indeed,” Sam agreed, only because Castiel seemed so very serious about it.

The referee, a middle-aged mom who was wearing khaki shorts, stood in front of the kids taking part in the contest. She reminded them of the rules: the fighting had to be only done in the sky, if someone pushed or pinched their opponents they’d be automatically disqualified.

“And remember what’s the main goal!” she said.

“Utterly humiliate those who doubted you because of your gender?” Meg suggested.

“Fun!” replied the lady like she hadn’t even heard her. “Flyers to the line.”

The four kids took a step forward. The referee blew her whistle and the three of the kids immediately lifted their kites and started running around, trying to get them to gain altitude. Meg, however, stood in her spot, kicking pebbles and staring at her nails.

“What is she doing?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Do you think she even knows how to fly one of those?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but then a particularly strong gust of wind hit them, making him swallow some sand and knocking the peanuts of his hand. It seemed that was the moment Meg was waiting for, because she raised her kite, which immediately flew higher than any of the others.

“Oh, no,” Sam paled. Inadvertently, she had just given the other kids a perfect angle from which to cut the line.

The kid to her right thought the same thing, because he manipulated the rope so his blue kite would fly straight towards Meg’s. At the last minute, Meg stepped aside, and her kite avoided the encounter easily. The kid frowned and made another attempt, but Meg simply kept avoiding him, patiently moving around the circle the crowd had formed around them. The kid was huffing frustrated, because no matter what he did, he just couldn’t reach Meg’s kite.

“Is that allowed?” he screamed at the referee, but apparently, since Meg wasn’t getting strictly physical with anybody, there was nothing the woman could do.

So the kid kept following Meg around the circle, systematically teasing and tempting him. If the kid had taken one moment to look at her face instead of the sky, he would have noticed the smirk in her face and realized she’d got him exactly where she wanted him.

The Winchesters and Castiel did notice, though.

“Oh!” Dean said when he figured out Meg’s plan. “Very smart! Show them, girl!”

Meg had guided her pursuer dangerously close to where the other competitors were trying and failing to cut each other. The kid was so focus on going after Meg he didn’t even see them until it was too late. Meg pulled her kite down just in time to avoid the collision.

“What are you doing?!” one of the other kids shouted.

But it was too late: the three lines had become all tangled, and in a matter of seconds, the three kites collapsed on the ground.

“Excuse me, referee,” Meg said, with a smug smile as her kite landed flawlessly in front of her. “I think that means I win.”

The referee, who didn’t look entirely sure of what had just happened, raised Meg’s arm to signal her victory anyway. The crowd gave a half-hearted applause (of course, nobody liked to see their children lose) but Sam put two fingers in his lips and whistled loudly. Meg took the time to stick her tongue out at the kids who were pathetically trying to recover their kites. She turned around only to be engulfed by a pair of enthusiastic arms.

“You were great, Meg!” Castiel congratulated her.

“It was nothing,” Meg shrugged. But she was in no rush to get the angel to let go of her.


	12. Haunted

“We’ll have the extra, extra large pepperoni pizza with double everything,” Dean ordered.

The waitress glanced at them, like she doubted the two small kids coloring the placemats would be able to eat all of that, but then Sam came running into the restaurant and joined their table with a “Hey”. The waitress nodded, comprehensively, and left.

“Where you’ve been?” asked Meg.

“I was just… learning about this place,” Sam said. “You know, finding interesting spots we could visit tomorrow and such.”

“Did you find any?” Castiel asked with a glimmer in his blue eyes.

“Well, the town has a nice historical center,” Sam said. Castiel’s face lit up, but Meg put her tongue between her lips and made a fart sound. “It also has some nice ice cream stores,” Sam added.

“Oh,” Meg said, turning back to the drawing in the placemat. “That’s okay, then.”

“Yeah, it all seems really nice,” Sam continued. “We can rent bikes and…”

“I don’t know how to ride a bike,” Castiel said, shifting in his seat like he did when he was both nervous and curious. “Do you think I can learn?”

“Sure, why the hell not?” Dean shrugged. “What about you, princess?”

Meg looked up pensively from her drawings. “Huh,” she said. “I guess it’s true that you never forget how to do that.”

The pizza arrived just when Dean was teasing Meg about being around for the invention of bikes and she was throwing her pencils at him.

 

* * *

 

The following morning was a bit cloudy, so it was perfect for a ride around the town instead of going to the beach. Sam was left in the room getting the little monsters ready while Dean walked up to the motel’s counter to ask for maps and such.

“Of course,” the blonde receptionist said with an obliging smile as gathered some pamphlets with information for Dean. “Let me just say, you’re such a nice family. Your boy is so courteous and your girl is… well, she’s very lively.”

“Say it: she’s a pain in the ass,” Dean said. “But what can you do? Kids will be kids.”

“You’re absolutely right,” the receptionist chuckled. Dean was just about to turn around and go back to the room when she spoke again: “Oh, you’re not thinking about taking them to the old lighthouse, are you?”

Dean stopped in his tracks. “We thought about it,” he admitted, carefully analyzing the woman’s face. There was a little frown between her eyebrows and she was toying with her fingers nervously. “Why?”

The smile she showed him didn’t entirely dissipate the concern in her expression.

“Oh, just a local legend,” she said. “About the lighthouse being haunted and such. It’s nonsense, really.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, returning to the counter and turning on the charm that had got him out of more than one sticky situation. “Well, maybe I’m interested in nonsense. Tell me more.”

“It’s nothing,” the receptionist blushed and giggled. “Weird lights in the nights, strange noises. You know, those stories that happened to a friend of a friend. They’re probably spread around to keep teenagers from sneaking in there to have sex or something.”

“Well, stories always have an origin, right?” Dean insisted.

The receptionist looked around, like she didn’t want anyone to hear her talking about that stuff, and then she leaned on the counter.

“They say the lighthouse keeper went insane,” she told him, in a confidential whisper. “That he found out his wife was having an affair with a fisherman, so he stabbed her to death and then jumped out and drowned in the lake. Which is ridiculous, because how can you be a lighthouse keeper if you can’t swim?”

“Right,” Dean forced out a laugh. “Very ridiculous.”

“Anyway, even if the ghosts are bogus, the story is rather bloody,” the receptionist said. “And they tell it on every guided visit, so you know… maybe it’s not the best place to visit with children.”

“Gotcha,” Dean nodded. “Though, you know… kids are tougher than we give them credit for.”

He added a wink, which earned him another giggle, and stalked back to the room. He crossed the doorway and was just about to tell Sam about the haunted lighthouse (his mouth was open, the words were a second away from rolling out of his tongue) when he realized what he was seeing. Sam was giving Meg a piggyback ride, as he moved around the room, and they were arguing about what they should bring along to that day’s excursion.

“I seriously don’t understand why you won’t let me take the sandwiches,” Meg complained.

“Because last time we let you do that, you ate them all,” Sam reminded her. He somehow managed to put the Tupperware in the backpack without letting go of Meg.

Castiel opened the bathroom’s door, all ready and freshened up.

“I’m ready!” he announced opening his arms so Sam could inspect his shirt and his shorts. Then the little angel noticed Dean and his eyes got even brighter. “Are we going to ride bikes now?”

“Yes, of course,” Dean laughed. “Hurry up, guys. We’re losing daylight.”

 

* * *

 

It was hard to believe, but they actually spent a very peaceful morning, except for a few scratched knees.

“No, Dean, it’s okay,” Castiel said every time he fell off the bike and the hunter offered him to hold onto the handlers to provide him with some extra balance. “I have to learn how to do this by myself.”

He had a little frown and the tip of his tongue poking between his lips. His intense concentration was almost comical. Learning to ride a bike was apparently no laughing matter.

Meanwhile, Meg went up and down the street, pedaling very fast and stretching his arms into the sky every time she gained some speed, even though Sam repeatedly begged her not to do that.

“Why don’t we have these?” Meg asked. “I want one for Christmas!”

“No,” Dean replied, dryly.

“Why not?”

“You’re a demon,” he pointed out. “That automatically puts you on the naughty list.”

Meg stuck her tongue out at him and rushed to leave him and Castiel behind, with Sam chasing after her until their time with the bikes run out. Castiel showed the bruises on his arms proudly before they vanished as they all went for a cone of ice cream.

“As a means of transportation, riding a bike seems to be almost as good as wings. I think I will be able to master it in the end,” he commented. “Of course it’d be much easier if I could practice on daily basis…

Dean let out a deep sigh and started mentally calculating how many tips he would need to earn to buy a couple of second hand bikes.

“I want to choose where we go next!” Meg announced, raising her hand like they were in class and she was about to answer a question. “It’s only fair.”

“Alright,” Dean said, lining the pamphlets in front of her. “Take your pick.”

Meg stared at them attentively for a moment. Then the inevitable happened:

“What about this place?” she suggested, pointing at the pamphlet with the guided visits to the lighthouse. “It looks creepy.”

“I don’t know…” Dean began to say, but Sam interrupted him.

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

* * *

 

The lighthouse towered above the lake, all rusty and grim.

“So cool,” Meg muttered under her breath as they waited outside with another group of tourist for the next guided visit.

“It doesn’t look like a very firm structure,” Castiel said. Dean reckoned he was right: when looked at from a certain angle, the lighthouse seemed to be leaning dangerously to the left, and there was a big chance that it’d collapse within a couple of years.

“But why would they let it decay like that?” Sam wondered. “It’s an historical building after all.”

“Maybe they wanted to increase the creepiness factor,” Meg said, nodding approvingly, like that was exactly what she would do if she ever got her hands on an old construction.

The lighthouse’s doors opened, and a girl wearing shorts and a cap that identified her as the guide smiled at them.

“Welcome! It’s a pleasure to have you all here,” she greeted them, beckoning them to come closer. From the inside, the building didn’t look any less hazardous, which the guide confirmed by adding: “The place is a little rickety, so please don’t stray from the group… _and don’t touch anything_.”

Castiel, who had extended an arm towards a showcase full of books, hastily hid his hand behind his back.

“Follow me please,” the girl said, without losing her smile. “We have some climbing to do. Be careful, though, some of the steps are a bit out of balance.”

Dean let Sam and the kids went ahead, but he paid close attention to the girl’s speech. Mostly she kept giving historical dates of when was the lighthouse inaugurated, how long it’d been in service, how tall it was and more useless things like that. They finally reached the top of the staircase, to platform full of more showcases with little miniature boats and lighthouses. The guide informed them the souvenirs were all for sale before pointing to another staircase that led to the lighthouse’s gallery, from which they could take pictures.

“Please, go up one by one,” she said.

Meg was tugging Sam’s shirt, obviously anxious to go up.

“You coming?” he asked his brother.

“Nah, you go ahead,” Dean told him. “I’ve done enough climbing for a couple of weeks.”

He rubbed his legs for added effect, and Sam rolled his eyes before going after Meg and Cas, screaming at them not to run or jump.

Dean looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him (most of the tourist had gone to the gallery, and the guide was too busy selling souvenirs to the rest), and took out his trustworthy walkman-turned-EMF meter from his pocket. Old habits died hard. After several seconds of watching the needle going up and down without detecting anything strange, Dean put it away again and walked up to the girl.

“Hey,” he said, showing her the same smile he had used with the receptionist. “I was wondering…”

“Do you want to buy a gift?” the girl asked, practically shoving one of the miniature lighthouses in front of Dean. “For your children, maybe?”

“Why not?” Dean asked. After all, he needed an excuse to keep talking to… Emily, the little plat in her shirt informed him. “So… places like these always have… you know, scary legends attached to them.”

“What, the keeper’s ghost?” Emily asked with a chuckle, while she counted Dean’s change. “That’s just a story to lure tourists in.”

“Of course it is,” Dean said. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. What the hell was he doing working a case, anyway? He was supposed to be enjoying their vacations. “Yeah, why would it be haunted anyway?”

“I don’t know about haunted,” the guide said. “But we’d had a weird streak of bad luck through the years.”

“Really?” Dean’s attention returned immediately. “How so?”

“Well, you know, the logical things that happen when you work in an old place,” Emily shrugged. “Broken limbs, some infected wounds. Nothing too serious. We’ve tried to have it restored several times, but there’s always something: budget problems, electronic issues. The whole place is apparently haywire, so the old lantern sometimes gets turned on. Which I guess explains the ghost’s rumor.”

She let out a bitter laugh, and when she spoke again, Dean understood why:

“Anyway, the town council decided to cut to the chase and they’re having it demolished after tourist season is over,” she said. “They’re building a new restaurant with views to the lake or something like that.”

“Shame,” Dean said, because he perceived that’s what the girl wanted him to say. “The place has its charm.”

“Doesn’t it?” Emily agreed, handing Dean the bag with his souvenirs and his change.

“Dean, look!” a small voice called him, and he turned around just in time to see Castiel running at him with Sam’s cellphone in his hand. “Look at the pictures we took!”

There were some with the lake’s sight, but mostly they were of Castiel and Meg making funny or ridiculous faces at the camera. Of course, Meg had more practice than Castiel, but the little angel managed to looked every bit like a nine-year-old just fooling around in a couple of them.

“That’s cool, guys,” Dean said, smiling, at the same time Emily announced it was time to go back down again.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Sam commented while they passed by what once was the keeper’s bedroom.

“Yeah, it was actually educational…” Dean began. A soft whizzing sound coming from inside his jacket invaded the air. Sam stopped in his track, looking around frowning.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Dean was about to lie he had no idea when they heard Meg scream: “Hey, Cas, do you think I can jump from this step to that one?” so Sam went running after them to prevent any disaster from happening. Dean sighed, relieved, and then took out the EMF meter and stepped inside the old room. The needle went and the red lights on top were all flashing red. Dean looked around at the metal bed, the night-table with an oil lamp on top of it and the wardrobe pushed into a corner.

“Huh.”


	13. Habit

For a summer evening, the night had fallen rather fast over the small town. From atop the old lighthouse, all the houses and stores seemed to be peacefully slumbering already, and no cars were circulating on the dimly lit main street. Emily breathed in the clear lake’s air, and a sense of melancholy invaded her. She was going to miss this when the lighthouse was taken down, but it was true it had become a safety hazard, so… there was nothing she could really do.

The keys tingled as she unhooked them from her belt to lock the gallery’s door. She always chose the last turn, because after visiting hours were over, she had the chance to spend some time alone with the creaky building, even though her mother had told her, plenty of times, that moving around in the dark in that staircase with nothing but a lantern to guide her was a surefire way to getting her neck broken.

Emily didn’t care. She had always been fascinated by the place, ever since she was a child, and the thought this would be the last summer she spent in it was almost a bit too much to bear, but she had taken the decision of not being there when they demolished it. She was leaving the town for a postgraduate in Chicago, and if luck was on her side, she wouldn’t be returning any time soon.

She was climbing down the stairs, thinking that she should resume her search for a place to rent on Craiglist as soon as she got home, when a thumping sound cut off her train of thoughts. She stopped, frowning. She was familiar with each and every one of the subtle noises of the lighthouse, but that one had been just a bit too loud to be typical. Maybe one of the steps had finally gave in and fallen? Maybe a rodent of some kind (God knew they had plenty of those) had fallen from the roof? She couldn’t tell.

She retraced her steps towards the old keeper’s room and leaned her ear against the door. At first she heard nothing, and she was about to assume it had been a product of her imagination, when she heard it again. One thing was certain: no mouse she’d ever heard could make a noise like that. The thumping continued, rhythmical and relentless, like someone was banging against the wooden wardrobe, while Emily reached for her keys and burst the door open.

The intruders she was expecting to find were nowhere.

“Hello?” she called out.

Only silence answered her.

“Look, you’re not supposed to be here after closing hours,” she continued, walking inside the room. She reasoned whoever was in there was probably some adventurous teen who thought it would be a fun dare to break in the haunted lighthouse, so she added: “Come out now. I promise you won’t get in trouble.”

She took another step inside and shivered in her light jacket. The night outside was warm, but in there it was freezing cold. That was strange.

She was about to call out again when the door behind her closed. Emily told herself it had been the wind, even though all the windows were closed (she’d checked them on the way up, she could’ve sworn it) because any other possibility was too terrifying to even consider.

“You know, this isn’t a fun prank,” she said, trying to sound irritated instead of scared. “Stop it. Right now.”

The light of her lantern blinked, and then went off. Which was impossible, because she had replaced the batteries that morning. Emily’s heart began pounding so hard she was certain whoever was in that room with her could hear it too. Her hands were trembling (because of the unnatural cold in the room, not because she was afraid, she told herself) while she took out her cellphone from her pocket and dialed the sheriff’s office number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Phil,” she greeted the young deputy. She was relief to hear his voice. They had gone to high school together, and were old friends. “Listen, I think there’s someone in the lighthouse. If you could come over here and check it out...”

“You sure?” Philip asked. “Maybe it’s just the old keeper’s ghost.”

“That’s not funny,” Emily said. In any other occasion, she would have laughed it off, but she was too upset to appreciate Phil’s juvenile humor. “I heard a noise and…”

The thump began again, frightening her enough to let out a little whimper.

“Emily?” Phil called, this time with genuine concern.

“I-I think they’re in the wardrobe,” Emily whispered, as she backed down until her back was against the door. “Please, could you just get over here?”

“I’m on my way,” Philip said.

Emily wished he didn’t hang up, but just the sound of that friendly voice had helped her recover some of her courage.

“You heard that? He’s on his way,” she told the apparently empty room. “Why don’t you come out now so we don’t have to make this even harder on all of us?”

The thumping stopped. The wardrobe door creaked open. Emily tried the door handle once more, but it wouldn’t budge, so she started desperately touching her belt to look for something that could remotely resemble a weapon. The guy at her self-defense class had said she could use her keys as a slashing weapon, and she could always try to hit whoever was getting close with the now useless lantern.

Breathing in short gasps, with her knees trembling violently, she turned around to face the intruder.

There was a woman standing in the moonlight coming in through the window. Her dress was completely covered in bloodstains.

Emily began screaming even before the woman extended her hands and launched herself towards her.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t eat all the syrup!” Castiel protested.

Meg poured a little more over her plate (which was already more syrup than pancakes), but in the end she relinquished the bottle to the little angel. Dean was downing his second cup of coffee and Sam was ignoring his, too busy tapping the screen of his tablet.

“What are you reading?” Dean asked, right after taking a bite from a toast.

“You shouldn’t speak with your mouth full,” Castiel scolded him.

“Says who?” Meg said, stuffing her face with pancakes as she talked.

“Local news,” Sam replied.

“Why?”

“Habit,” Sam shrugged. A small frown appeared in his face. “Huh. Hey, you remember the guide girl at the lighthouse?”

“Emily, yeah,” Dean nodded. “She was cute.”

“Well, apparently she had some sort of accident last night,” Sam said, passing the tablet over to Dean so he could read about it himself.

“What?” Dean asked. “She alright?”

“She fell down the stairs, broke a few ribs,” Sam informed him. “But the doctors say she’s gonna make it. But get this: she claimed she was pushed down, but the deputy found her not two minutes later, and when they investigated the lighthouse, they didn’t find anybody.”

“Couldn’t whoever did this be out by then?” Dean suggested.

“Maybe,” Sam said. “According to the deputy, he stayed with Emily until the ambulance arrived, so nobody could have walked past them on their way to the door without him noticing. So short of jumping from atop of the lighthouse, there’s no way her attacker could have fled the scene in that time.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah.”

The two brothers stayed in silence for a moment. Castiel looked at each of them alternatively, and then he said in the saddest little voice:

“I guess that means we’re not going to the beach today?”

“Oh, come on,” Meg complained.

Dean tapped his fingers against the table for a moment and then returned the table to Sam.

“No, you know what? Let’s not get paranoid here,” he said, in his most casual tone of voice. “This may not be a case at all. I mean, Emily hit her head pretty hard and probably can’t even remember what really happened. She might be confused.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely right,” Sam agreed, putting his tablet away and grabbing his cup of coffee. “We’re on vacation and we’re leaving in two days. We have to make the most of our time here.”

Castiel and Meg looked at one another and then at the brothers.

“You know… you can investigate it if you want,” Castiel said. “If it’s that important to you.”

“Cas…”

“We’re not…”

“No, for real,” Meg interrupted, shaking her head. “Just go ahead. You’re gonna be annoyed and irritable all day long if you don’t.”

Dean scoffed and finished his coffee. Sam ate a toast.

“I’ll go to the library,” he decided.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to Emily,” Dean added, putting some bills on the table to pay for the breakfast. “Take Meg with you, I’ll take Cas.”

“Oh, I’m gonna spend all day locked up between books,” Meg said, rolling her eyes. “Joy.”

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t taking you to the hospital,” Dean replied. “You’re probably gonna tell the patients their injuries aren’t suppurating enough.”

Meg didn’t even try to deny it.

 

* * *

 

Emily was sitting rigidly in the bed in a full body cast, watching a hideous hospital drama because she couldn’t move her arms to reach for the remote and her mother hadn’t returned from her late brunch yet. They had given her a bunch of painkillers, but she was suffering deeply nonetheless.

Her room door opened, and she sighed in relief.

“Thank God,” she said. “Could you change this crap? Or just turn it off, please.”

She had assumed it was her mother, but because she couldn’t turn her head around, so she didn’t realize it was a guy until he walked into her line of vision carrying a balloon with the a sign that read “Get Well Soon.”

“Oh, come on,” he protested. “ _Dr. Sexy_ has its merits.”

Emily was a bit taken aback as she tried to identify the guy.

“Hey, you were in the lighthouse yesterday,” she finally remembered. “With your kids. What was your name again?”

“Dean. Yeah, we read what happened to you on the news,” the guy said. “Castiel wanted to know you were okay.”

A nine-years-old boy walked in as well, and stopped to stare at Emily with big, curious blue eyes. He had to be the cutest boy she’d ever seen, and any suspicions she might have harbored were immediately dissolved when he took a step closer to her bed and asked:

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” Emily assured her, smiling. “No, the doctors gave me some meds so it wouldn’t hurt. They say they can patch me up and I’ll be good as new in no time. You don’t need to worry.”

Castiel nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Give her the balloon,” Dean indicated. Castiel tied it to Emily’s bed with a solemnity so grave it was almost comical. “There, we go. Good boy. Now why don’t you run and get me a coffee from the machine?”

“You had coffee with your breakfast,” Castiel pointed out.

“Go, Cas.”

Cas hesitated for a moment, but in the end he took the bill Dean was handing him and left the room.

“He’s no so nice,” Emily commented, touched.

“Yeah, he’s a little angel,” Dean chuckled, like that was some sort of inside joke. “So, what happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Emily’s face went somber.

“Well, you read it,” she said. “I stumbled and rolled downstairs. It was a pretty spectacular accident. They probably published it to keep pushing for the lighthouse’s demolition…”

She went quiet, because Dean’s face indicated her he didn’t believe a word.

“Emily, you saw something,” he said, bluntly. “I need you to tell me what it was.”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Emily answered. “Nobody has.”

“Try me.”

Emily bit her lips. Everybody had told her she was confusing things, that she had hit her head and couldn’t be sure of what happened, that she must be confused. And it didn’t matter how ridiculous it sounded. She just needed someone to believe her.

“Alright,” she decided. “I saw Sophia Scanell. The keeper’s wife. She came out from the wardrobe and she pushed me.”

“I thought you said that was just a story,” Dean commented.

“It isn’t. Not entirely, at least,” Emily confessed. “Scanell really killed himself by jumping off the gallery in 1945. But she had disappeared a few days before. Some people thought she’d run away with her lover, some said Scanell had killed her… I guess now we know.”

Dean nodded, gravely. “When you say she disappeared…?”

“He did a damn good job hiding her body, because it was never found,” Emily shrugged. “I guess it’s not surprising. The beach is very large, and the lake is very deep.”

“Awesome,” Dean muttered. He seemed frustrated for some reason.

Castiel walked in the room, carrying a smoking cup of coffee he handed to Dean.

“Too much caffeine can’t be good to your system,” he scolded him.

Emily would have hugged him or pinched his cheeks if she only could use her hands.

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “Say goodbye to Emily.”

Castiel put a hand on Emily’s broken forearm and smiled at her. It was hard to describe, but that beatific smile somehow made Emily think everything was going to be alright in the end.

“Goodbye, Emily,” he said. “I hope you feel better.”

And as Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and they both left, Emily realized she did feel a lot better.

 

* * *

 

“Did you heal her?” Dean asked, eyeing Castiel suspiciously as soon as they were out of the hospital.

“No,” Castiel said, looking away. He was a terrible liar, and they both knew it. “Just a little bit,” he admitted in the end.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Dean sighed as he took out his cellphone to call Sam. “We better make the most of these two days, ’cause now we gotta solve a seventy-years-old murder.”


	14. Backup

“No!” Meg gasped, horrified.

Sam looked up from the press clippings he was reading. “What is it?”

“They killed Rue!” Meg explained, turning the page of the book. Her face lit up again. “Yes, Katniss, shoot that son of a bitch. Shoot him _dead_.”

Sam couldn’t help the amused smile that formed in his lips. His cellphone vibrated on the table.

“Hey,” Sam answered in a whisper. “What you got?”

“A storyline that could put the best soap operas to shame,” Dean said, and told him everything Emily had said.

“Great. So, no body,” Sam sighed. “And no place to find the body. I mean, we can’t just drag the lake looking for it or something.”

“It’s not in the lake,” Meg said. The mention of dead bodies had made her turn her attention back to Sam.

“Excuse me,” Sam told his brother, and stared at the little demon. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, ‘cause that’s too obvious,” she said. “If I were a lighthouse keeper and I killed my wife, I wouldn’t dump her body on the lake or bury her in the beach. That’s the first place they’d look for her.”

Sam didn’t even bother asking her how she came up with those conclusions.

“Alright,” he said. “What would you do?”

Meg smirked, like she felt flattered Sam would ask her that.

“I’d hide it close to me,” she said. “Somewhere I could keep an eye on every day. At least, until people stopped looking for her, and _then_ I would move it.”

Incredibly, it made sense.

“Dean?” Sam called, putting the cellphone back in his ear. “Emily said Sophia’s ghost appeared in the room, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, right before she went all Glen Close on her.”

“I think I know where the body is,” Sam nodded, satisfied. After agreeing on a few more details with Dean, he hung up, stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Meg, who had turned her attention back at the book, looked up a little disappointed.

“Can you wait until I finish this chapter?”

 

* * *

 

“I really don’t think we should be left behind in this matter,” Castiel protested as the Winchester put on their darkest clothes and checked their lanterns and shotguns. “We could provide valuable backup…”

“Or just get in the way and make us stumble,” Dean groaned. “There’s no guarantee.”

“May I remind you, Dean, that I am a million-years-old angel…?”

“You’re a nine-year-old with the powers of a million-years-old angel,” Dean corrected him. “Hardly the same thing.”

Castiel crossed his arms and sat on the bed, sulking.

“Hey, we’re going to be just fine,” Sam said, correctly guessing the motive for Castiel’s concern. “It’s just a simple salt and burn case. We’ve been in worse situations.”

The little angel still didn’t look convinced.

“Leave it, Cas,” Meg said, with her nose still stuck on _The Hunger Games_ book. “We can just stay here and watch a movie. Much more fun than burning bodies.”

Both the brothers stopped everything they were doing to glance at her.

“Okay, maybe not _much_ more fun,” Meg corrected herself. “But anything involving you two losers is lame anyway.”

That was more like it. Dean zipped his bag closed.

“Alright, you know the rules,” he said. “No magic, no arsons, no scaring people.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel and Meg said, only Castiel did it while looking down at his shoes and Meg did it with a mocking tone and dragging the syllables.

“Let’s go,” Sam said, with a foot already at the door. Dean didn’t move from his spot.

“You have the cellphones so if you need us for any reason, just call,” he continued. “If there’s any trouble at all…”

“Yes, we know!” Meg said, rolling her eyes.

“Dean!” Sam called him.

Dean hesitated a second longer and then turn around to follow his brother. Sam waved at the little monsters and then closed the door behind him.

“I don’t understand why they didn’t take us with them,” Castiel said. He looked disappointed, like he thought if he gave Dean a couple more seconds, the hunter would’ve changed his mind.

Meg put the book down with an exasperated sigh. “Does it really mean so much to you?”

Castiel nodded, so Meg got up of the bed and lifted the window’s blinds just a little bit. The lights of the Impala were already fading in the distance.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said.

“What?” Castiel blinked in confusion. “Meg, we can’t…”

“Dean didn’t say anything about us leaving the room,” Meg replied, matter-of-factly. “Did he now?”

Castiel careful reviewed Dean’s instructions in his head and had to admit that no, he hadn’t specifically forbidden them from doing that.

“And you believe we’ll be of much use there than here, don’t you?” Meg continued. Her hand was already on the doorknob.

“I suppose so,” Castiel nodded.

“Okay, then,” Meg said, pushing the door open with a decided gesture. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“So why do you think Sophia’s ghost was awakened now?” Sam said as they drove through the calmed streets of the town in the lighthouse’s direction. “I mean, she’s had years to become violent, but apparently she hadn’t attacked anybody until now.”

“I’m guessing the whole talk about taking down her house didn’t sit well with her.”

“Yeah. And you know one thing I don’t understand?” Sam continued. “If Scanell kept the body, it meant he obviously planned to get rid of it. Why off himself before doing that?”

“Maybe he didn’t kill himself,” Dean speculated. “Maybe Sophia did it for him. I mean, we already know she’s a bit of a pusher.”

Sam reckoned his brother was right, but when he turned around to tell him so, he noticed Dean’s shoulder were slumped and he was holding onto the wheel a bit too tight.

“Everything alright?” Sam asked, worried.

They parked in front of the lighthouse and Dean turned off the engine with a sigh.

“I feel terrible,” he confessed. “Sammy, I feel awful for leaving them there all alone.”

“Well, it wasn’t like we could bring them along…” Sam tried to reason.

“I know,” Dean huffed. “I know that. But, man, I feel so guilty. How did Dad ever do this?”

That was a can of worms Sam was not going to open anytime soon, so he simply put a hand on Dean’s forearm.

“Hey, the faster we finish with this, the sooner we’ll be back,” he said. “So let’s get on with it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

They got out of the car and walked towards the building. A sign indicated the lighthouse would remain closed to the public until the day of the demolition. As usual, the Winchesters ignored it. The broke the chain with a pair of shears and tiptoed inside, holding up their lanterns and shotguns full of rock salts. The stair steps creaked under their weigh, but they held. The brothers had agreed that since Emily was attacked on the upper floors they go there first and then make their way down.

The superior floor seemed to be normal, but when they walked into what had been Scanell’s room, the EMF meter started to go crazy. The brother’s looked at one another and nodded. They discarded the most obvious places (the wardrobe, under the bed) and knocked on the floors and the walls, waiting to hear a hollow thump that indicated they had found Sophia’s final resting place. After a while, it became obvious there was nothing to find there.

“Maybe we should check the control room,” Dean suggested.

“Yeah,” Sam said, but just like it’d happened on the motel room, he didn’t move at first.

“What’s the matter?”

“I was just so sure she had to be here,” Sam protested. “The attack happened here, this is where the EMF is… I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing my edge.”

Dean chuckled and was about to say something to tease his brother when the door suddenly slammed shut. The brothers went immediately into fighting mode, walking backwards until they were back to back so they could see every inch of the room. Sam watched his breath ascending in spirals in front of him and suddenly realized the place’s temperature had dropped several degrees.

“She’s here,” hen muttered. Dean thought he detected a note of triumph in his brother’s voice and took a second to roll his eyes, even though Sam couldn’t see him. “Sophia?” Sam called. “Listen, we’ve come to help you. We know what happened to you, what your husband did. We just want to…”

“Sam,” Dean interrupted him with an elbow to his back. The younger Winchester turned around to see how the wardrobe door swung open.

“Sophia,” he kept saying. “We don’t want to hurt you, alright? We need you to tell us where he put you when he hurt you…”

“Yeah, like she’ll be so kind to give us the directions,” Dean said.

Sam hushed him. Something was crawling outside the wardrobe.

The woman would have looked solid enough to cheat the untrained eye, but the Winchesters had been on this business long enough to know right away her paleness and twitchy moves were unnatural. Her dress was old-fashioned and bloodstained and she looked at the Winchesters curiously, almost as if she was wondering what they were looking there.

The ghost and the Winchesters stared at each other for a split second.

Then, the late Sophia Scanell raised her arms and launched herself forwards with a howl. The rock salt hit her square in the chest, and she disappeared in a cloud of dust. The room’s door creaked open.

“Wardrobe!” Sam indicated.

Dean was already running towards it and knocking on the wood with his fist.

“It’s hollow,” he determined. Sam passed him an axe.

After a few swings, the wood had come apart enough for them to notice a burlap sack. There were several locks of brittle hair sticking out. They didn’t know to look inside to know what it was, because Sophia’s bones clattered when they pulled it out.

“That’s sick,” Dean said, coughing from all the dust that had gathered there with the decades.

“I hear you,” Sam agreed. “Let’s take her outside.”

Dean had just picked up the sack when the door slammed shut again. They looked around with their shotguns ready, but this time Sophia wasn’t showing herself. Dean was about to suggest they axed the door open and maybe (just maybe) make a _The Shinning_ reference when and invisible sent him flying across the room. He lost grip of his shotgun and the burlap sack and landed on his face. When he could catch his breath and look up, he saw Sam was in the same situation. Dean tried to stand up, but the same force from before grabbed him by the neck and held him tight against the wall.

“Dean!” Sam screamed. He tried running up to his brother, but Sophia caught him as well.

Dean started thinking of a way out of this, but it was hard to do when an ghostly hand was pressing against his throat and cutting his oxygen supply. Salt. He still had salt on him… if he could only move his hand…

He could hear Sam struggling for breath at his side.

Inch by agonizing inch, Dean’s hand crawled inside his jacket, but he was feeling dizzy and his fingers had barely grazed the salt package when black spots began obscuring his vision. Anger overcame him. He had survived demons, angels, the goddamn Apocalypse, and he was not about to be taken down by some random ghost. His fingers clutched around the salt package…

“Eat salt!” an acute voice shouted.

Sophia shouted and became visible again, stumbling backwards.

Dean fell to the ground. Sam did the same, coughing loudly.

“You… okay?” Dean asked, instinctively reaching out for his brother.

“Yeah…” Sam gasped and looked around, trying to understand what’d just happened.

Meg was standing in the middle of the room with the shotgun, that looked immense in her tiny hands, smirking defiantly at the ghost.

“Come on, I dare you!” the little demon taunted Sophia. “Bet you can’t even take out a little girl if you tried.”

Sophia took a step towards her, with a furious grimace in her face.

“Meg!” Sam screamed, and he jumped to his feet to help her, but there was no need.

With one last bloodcurdling shout, Sophia disintegrated amidst flames and smoke. When the Winchesters looked around, they saw Castiel standing in front of the burning burlap sack, with the lighter still in his hand.

 

* * *

 

“What exactly did you think you were doing?!”

“We saved your bacon, and that’s how you say thanks?”

Meg and Sam had been bickering all the way from the lighthouse to the motel (with a short stop in between to return the bikes the little monsters had sort-of-stolen-more-like-borrowed-I-mean-is-it-really-stealing-if-we-were-planning-to-give-them-back?) and now that they were in the room, they didn’t show any signs of stopping.

“We had it all under control!”

“Not from our point of view!”

Castiel looked worried at Dean.

“I’ve never seen Sam so mad,” he said, wringing his hands nervously. “Do you think it’ll help if I tell him it wasn’t Meg’s idea?”

“Nah,” Dean sighed. “Just let him vent it out. But you do know what you did was extremely reckless, don’t you?”

Castiel looked at him with his blue eyes wide open, so Dean sighed and patted the bed so the little angel would sit by his side.

“Look, this is the exact reason we stopped hunting,” he told Castiel. “We didn’t want to leave you alone. We didn’t want you to be in danger while you were still too short to reach for most cupboards. We wanted you to be safe, you understand?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, quickly wiping a tear from his eye.

“Oh, come here,” Dean said. He put an arm around the little angel’s shoulder and pulled him close to him. “Hey, I’m glad you had our backs today, buddy. Just don’t ever do it again, okay?”

“And why does it even matter to you?!” Meg shouted at the other side of the room.

“Because I care about you, Meg!” Sam exploded. “I care and I don’t want you to get hurt again, I was scared shitless when I saw you there today!”

That seemed to leave Meg without any arguments, because several seconds passed and the only comeback the demon could utter was: “Oh.” When Dean and Castiel turned around, Meg was standing very rigid on the bed, blinking like she didn’t know what to do with that information.

Sam also was lost for words, because it took several seconds of him clearing his throat before he spoke again.

“Don’t do that again,” he said, and it sounded more like a plea than an order.

“Okay,” Meg said.

Then she did something that was both very cute and very strange: she got off the bed, walked towards Sam and hugged him. Only Sam was so tall and Meg’s arms were so short it looked more like she was just fondling Sam’s stomach. The hunter was shocked. All he managed to do was pat Meg’s hair a couple of times before the demon let go.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she groaned. “Let’s not ever mention it.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed.

“Right, well, I think we should all go to bed now,” Dean suggested, trying to dissipate the awkward moment. “We have to go back home tomorrow, after all.”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel’s eyes lit up. “I can’t wait to tell _Whiskers_ all about our vacations!”


	15. Babysitter

Summer was coming to an end without any more material damages to the bunker, except for the marks in the doorway Dean decided was necessary to make in order to monitor the little monster’s growing process.

“Well, that’s not fair!” Meg protested when she saw her mark, a couple of inches lower than Castiel’s. “Do it again!”

“Sorry, princess,” Dean shrugged. “One per costumer.”

Meg crossed her arms and muttered a curse in a language Dean didn’t identify before stomping off.

“What’d she say?” he asked Castiel.

“I didn’t quite catch it,” Castiel said. “She did mention something about your shaving cream, though.”

So Dean stopped shaving for the following two weeks.

Sam’s hunters net was beginning to grow, so Dean installed a couple more phone lines in the war room with labels that read things like “FBI” and “CDC”. There were books piled up on the library’s table more often than not, and sometimes they had to shoo away _Mr. Whiskers_ or _Mephistopheles_ , who apparently thought ancient parchments and dusty pages were the perfect place to take a nap.

“I swear, that cat gets bigger every time I look at it,” said Dean, after a very intense fight for the corner of the table against Meg’s pet. “Do you think she’s doing something to make it grow like that?”

“Doubt it,” Sam said. “I’ve got all the spell ingredients under lock and key.”

Dean figured that wasn’t going to stop Meg if she really put her mind to it, but she seemed too busy those days running around with Castiel in the forest outside of the bunker to try anything. They had apparently discovered a nest of abandoned chicks, and after some intense research on the Internet, Castiel had determined the best way to help them was to feed them with a dropper every few hours, and he couldn’t do that without some backup.

“Why don’t we just bring them home?” Meg groaned several times.

“I told you, because when they start growing feathers they won’t have room to fly,” Castiel said. He was carving an Enochian rune on the tree’s trunk, though Meg wasn’t exactly sure how that was going to help keep predators away. “And besides, I’m not sure _Whiskers_ and _Mephistopheles_ can be convinced not to eat them.”

“They’re cats,” Meg pointed out. “It’s in their nature. Of course they can’t be convinced not eat them.”

Thus, the last few days of August slipped away in absolute calm that seemed too fragile to last. Sam was just started to slip comfortable in it when one day Charlie parked her yellow car outside the bunker.

“’Sup, bitches?” she greeted the younger Winchester when he opened the door for her.

“Charlie!” Sam said, pleasantly surprised as he hugged her. “What are you doing here?”

“Dean called me,” Charlie replied with a shrug.

“What?”

“Hey, girl!” Dean called from downstairs. Charlie smiled and went downstairs to hug him as well. “Glad you could make it.”

“Well, it sounded very important in your message,” Charlie said. “So, what is it? Do we have to stop a worldwide threat? Track down an especially nasty demon? More document forgery?”

Dean’s smile wavered a little and he cleared his throat, like he did when he was nervous.

“I, uh… I need you to look after the little monsters for a while…”

“What?”

Charlie’s face went from friendly and happy to ready to tear a son-of-a-bitch to pieces. Sam wished he had popcorns at hand.

Dean raised his hands as if that was going to protect him from Charlie’s rage. “Listen, I wouldn’t ask anyone else to…”

“I have an IQ of 180! The computer I can’t break into has not been invented yet!” Charlie shouted. “I’ve been hunting solo for the past two years! I’ve seen things in Oz you cannot imagine! And you ask me to _babysit_?”

Dean was looking down at his feet like a puppy being scolded for making a mess in the carpet, while Sam quietly snickered on the background. Still, Dean took a deep breath and tried his more charming smile:

“So… can you do it?”

Charlie was about to go off at him again when the bunker door opened and Meg and Castiel walked covered head to toe in mud. Sam cringed at the idea of how hard it’d be to clean those stains.

“Where’d you two been?” he asked.

“We went near the creek,” Meg explained, showing the dripping wet sneakers she was carrying in one hand. She looked very satisfied, which made Sam worried.

“Hello, Charlie!” Castiel said, and went to hug the hacker. “I’m so glad you came to visit us!”

Charlie wasn’t fazed by the fact he was spreading mud all over her Star Wars shirt. Instead she put a hand over her heart like she couldn’t take so much cuteness.

“Okay, I guess I could… watch over them for a couple of hours…”

“Awesome! Thank you!” Dean sighed.

“Where are you going?” Meg asked, squinting her eyes at them in suspicion.

“Not that you care, but we have some business in town,” Dean replied. Sam went along with it because his curiosity had been aroused. “Don’t let Meg brush her cat on the furniture,” Dean recommended Charlie. “Don’t let Cas bring any strange animals in here. If they get hungry there’s food in the fridge…”

“How long are planning to stay gone?” asked Charlie, who for some reason seemed nervous at the mentioning of having to feed them.

“Won’t be long,” Dean promised. “Come on, Sammy, let’s go.”

Sam looked at the trio one more time from atop de stairs. Charlie was apparently already regretting agreeing to do this, Castiel had grabbed her hand and was babbling incessantly about the things they could together, and Meg was staring in their direction probably still trying to figure out what was up with the two Winchesters.

“Please, behave,” Sam begged her. Meg made no promises.

Dean was already starting the engine when his brother got in the car.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Sam asked, finally letting his distrust sip in.

“A co-worker heard I was looking to buy some bikes,” Dean explained. “She said she had a couple rusting in the basement and that nobody was using them now that her kids are in college. She put me a prize, and I said yes.”

“Dean, Christmas is months away.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean blurted out, uncomfortable. “But I figured the bikes would need some fixing, ao we can start now and have them ready for December…”

Sam chuckled. Dean would never admit it, but it was obvious he was excited about this, about being to give the little monsters a present they would certainly enjoy.

“And why did you think it was necessary to call Charlie?”

“Well, I needed someone to help me tie the bikes and all,” he said. “And remember what happened the last time we left them alone?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. It was pretty obvious too that Dean didn’t really need him to come along, but he appreciated him asking anyway.

 

* * *

 

“So…” Charlie looked at Meg, who had her arms crossed over her chest and was staring at her like she was deciding whether she liked Charlie or not, and at Castiel, who was smiling beatifically at her. “… what do you kids do for fun around here?”

“Dark magic and virgin sacrifices,” Meg said.

“What?”

“Meg is joking,” Castiel clarified, although Meg’s smirk didn’t indicate the same to Charlie. “We usually play with our cats or watch a movie.”

“That sounds fun,” Charlie sighed. Movies, yes. That should keep them entertained until the Winchesters came back. “Uh, but first… maybe you should get out of those clothes,” she added, pointing at the mud they were spreading everywhere.

“You should see the creek, Charlie,” Castiel told her while he put on a clean t-shirt. “The water is clear and all the plants that grow around it are so smooth and green. We found a little pull and there were several tadpoles in them…”

“Castiel wanted to catch some and raise them ‘til they became frogs,” Meg added, throwing her dirty jeans at Charlie, who caught them in the air rather gracefully. “I told him Dean wouldn’t be down with the idea.”

“I reckon he wouldn’t,” Charlie laughed. “He’s a bit of a neat freak, huh?”

This time, when Meg smiled at her, Charlie didn’t feel a shiver running down her spine. There was a loud meow behind her and when Charlie turned around, a big dark shadow passed her by straight for Meg’s feet.

“Holy crap, that’s a cat?” Charlie asked while _Mephistopheles_ climbed Meg’s body and wrapped himself around her neck like a scarf.

“Say hi, _Meph_ ,” Meg ordered him. The cat let out a sound that was halfway between a hiss and a howl. “Oh, look, he likes you.”

“Why is it so big?” Charlie asked, still not over that fact.

“We’re not sure,” Castiel said. He was hugging a huge tabby cat with a sleigh bell around his collar (later, Charlie would find out _Mephistopheles_ had eaten his, both the collar and the bell). “But we believe it has something to do with the bunker. There are several ancient artifacts hidden around and we don’t know the function of most of them.”

“That’s not right,” Charlie shook her head. “What if one of those things is dangerous?”

“I’ve told that to Sam and Dean,” Castiel agreed with a grave nod. “But they say they are far too busy to start any sort of classification.”

Charlie looked at the enormous cats and then at the little kids (who, she had to remind herself, were really not kids at all) and a brilliant idea overcame her to both keep them entertained and help the Winchesters a bit.

“Well… we can always do it ourselves, can’t we?”

 

* * *

 

Most of the magical things the Winchester had been finding around had ended up in the computer room, stuffed on the shelves in front of the walls where Dorothy used to be trapped. They were spread around carelessly or stacked up in a precarious balance, and Charlie was not sure she wanted to discover what would happen if any came to fall. Last time that’d happened, they had released the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Alright,” she said, looking up at the shelves a little disheartened. Maybe to Sam the shelves were at a nice height, but she couldn’t do anything to reach the objects in them short of jumping pathetically. “First we need a way to get up there.”

“Oh, oh!” Castiel raised his hand like a school kid who knew the answer. “We could go to the woods, pick up enough branches and build a ladder…”

“Or, you know, we can just use our telekinesis to get everything down,” Meg suggested.

“You can do that?”

“We’ve been practicing,” the little demon shrugged. “We’ve still hadn’t recovered the control we used to have, but this should be easy.”

Charlie was tempted to go with the ladder idea after all, but in the end she stepped aside. Meg stared at the shelves intensely for a couple of minutes. She lifted her hands, like she was grabbing something invisible and started beckoning whatever it was to come to her. A strange box with weird inscriptions around slid a couple of inches towards the edge, and halted suddenly.

“It was a fine attempt, Meg,” Castiel said. Meg looked frustrated.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “That thing’s really heavy.”

“It’s just a wooden box,” Castiel argued.

“Yes, but it’s heavy!”

Meg tried again. The box moved and gave a little jump, and now was floating in the air several inches above their heads. Several drops of sweat formed in Meg’s forehead as she obviously was trying to make it land as smoothly as possible.

“Cas, why don’t you help her?” Charlie suggested.

“I got this,” she muttered, but her breathing had begun to falter.

“It’s alright, Meg,” Castiel said, standing next to her and also raising his hands. His blue eyes opened wide with surprise. “Oh, you’re right, it’s very heavy…”

“Get out,” Meg groaned. “I can do it alone.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Castiel argued.

“Because you don’t have to help me, I can do it!”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying maybe if we do it together it’ll be easier…”

As they argued, the box jerked forwards and backwards in the air, once coming dangerously close to crash against the wall.

“Uh… kids…” Charlie said.

“Cas, get out of my way!”

“I’m not on your way, Meg, I’m just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help!”

The box shook violently.

“Kids…” Charlie repeated with a note of panic in her voice.

“Well, maybe you should do it,” Meg was saying, with her face red with anger. “If you’re so sure you can do it better…”

“I didn’t say that!” Castiel argued, as irritated as her.

“Kids!” Charlie said again, this time louder. The box was practically flying all around the room, and she wasn’t entirely sure it was the children doing that.

“Fine!” Meg said.

“Fine!” Castiel repeated.

They both put their hands at the same time.

Charlie had a split second to react. She grabbed them both by the collar of the shirt and pulled them behind the computer while the box collapsed on the ground with a strange, hollow noise that echoed around the room. When Charlie dared to look at it again, she noticed it was wide open, but nothing horrible or bloody had come out of it. She sighed, relieved.

“It’s alright,” she told them. “Seems like it wasn’t that important after all.”

And then a thick black smoke emerged from the box.

Charlie reckoned she’d spoken too soon.


	16. Trapped

The bikes were a little rusty and they were definitely going to need new tires and a coat of paint, but apart from that, they were going to be just fine.

“Thank you again, Holly,” Dean said, shaking her hand once both of them were carefully tied up to the top of the car. “My nephews are going to love them.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Holly smiled at him. The bar’s cook was brunette and had small crinkles around the eyes. In a way, she reminded Dean of Ellen. “I’m so glad someone will put them to good use.”

A little over the left, Sam was talking on the phone with Charlie.

“Yes, everything okay here,” Charlie assured him. “We’re just, you know, watching movies, painting a bit… all very normal.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sam said. He couldn’t help but to think Charlie sounded just a little bit hysterical despite her cheery tone. “We’re done here, so we’ll be heading back and get there in twenty minutes or so…”

“Twenty minutes!” Charlie almost shouted.

“Is there a problem?” Sam asked.

“No, I mean, it’s just… so soon?” she said. “Why don’t you guys take your time? Go grab a bite somewhere, unwind a bit. I think you’ve earned that.”

“But what about…?”

“Don’t worry about a thing, I can handle them,” Charlie interrupted them. “Yes, just… go for lunch. The bunker will still be here when you come back.”

She didn’t say “hopefully”, but Sam could almost guess it floating in the air.

“Yeah, alright,” he said in the end. “I think we could do some shopping in the town, now that we’re here and all.”

“Yes, do that,” Charlie approved.

Sam said goodbye and turned to his brother.

“Hey, everything alright?” Dean asked.

“I think the little monsters caused some sort of minor disaster,” Sam told him. “And Charlie is trying to cover up for them and fix it before we get there.”

Dean sighed deeply and rolled his eyes.

“We should go back.”

“Yeah.”

The brothers stood in silence for a second, contemplating their lives and their choices.

“Wanna grab a beer or two before we do?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

 

* * *

 

Charlkie hang up and forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths before returning to the library, where Castiel and Meg leaning on top of several open books. The wooden box was lying in the middle of them, under the attentive watch of _Mephistopheles_ and _Mr. Whiskers_. The bunker had gone into lockdown the minute the black smoke had started floating in the air, so even if Sam and Dean decided to come back, they wouldn’t be able to get in.

And they were all trapped in there with whatever that was.

“Okay, I managed to distract them,” Charlie told the little monsters. “But we don’t have much time. We have to solve this before they come back.”

“For the record, none of this would have happened if Castiel had simply let me handle it,” Meg groaned under her breath, her little arms crossed over her chest.

Castiel glared at her, open-mouthed and offended. “Well, none of this would have happened if Charlie hadn’t suggested we should order the artifacts.”

“Kids, we can share the blame later,” Charlie cut them off. “Tell me you found something.”

“Yes, right here,” Castiel said, pointing at a drawing of the box next to a series of runes Charlie didn’t recognize.

“Great! What does it say?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, disheartened. “It’s Enochian, but the runes are a bit blurry. I’m going to need some time to translate it.”

“Okay,” Charlie said. Then she had an idea: she took a couple of pictures of the runes with her phone and sent it to her computer. “Maybe this will help you see them clearly. Meg?”

“Box creeps me out,” she said. “See those carvings on the lid? They’re traps for demons. Whatever was in here was bad and probably very big.”

“Awesome,” Charlie sighed and hid her head in the pit of her arms.

“Don’t worry, Charlie,” Castiel consoled her. “I’m sure whatever it is will probably get caught in one of the several Devil Traps that are around here.”

Meg shifted uncomfortable in her seat.

“Yes, about those…”

 

* * *

 

“He’ll have the extra-large salad, I want the cheeseburger with double everything,” Dean ordered. “Oh, and more of these,” he added, showing the empty beer bottles to the waitress.

“Coming right up,” she smiled.

They were sitting in a little restaurant not too far away from Holly’s home. They had found a table next to the window and they had spent several minutes looking at the menu and bickering about Dean’s cholesterol before they both decided to stick to what they liked the most.

“This is nice,” Dean commented. “We haven’t done this in a while. We should do it more often.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Sam said. “We can totally ask Charlie to come look after the kids every Friday night so you and I can go on a date. You know, because that would definitely help maintain our relationship.”

The sarcasm on his tone wasn’t lost on Dean.

“I was just saying…”

“I know,” Sam laughed. “I know what you were saying.”

“Your food,” the waitress announced serving the dishes. “And may I just say… you’re one of the cutest couples I have ever seen?”

The Winchester groaned loudly, with the impatience of someone who is way too used to hear that.

“We’re brothers!” Dean clarified.

The waitress didn’t apologize.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean _gone_?”

“Well, I was tired of getting stuck every time I walked into a room!” Meg said, opening her arms in a gesture of innocent. “So I might or might not have most of them deformed or broken in some way.”

“Meg, those things were there for a reason!” Castiel pointed out.

“Would you have liked it if you’d have to sort circles of holy oil fire when you get up at night to go to the bathroom?” Meg argued. “This place wasn’t designed to have someone like me living here permanently. So I made it a little more demon friendly. Smite me.”

By the looks of Castiel, it was obvious a part of him wanted to.

“Okay, okay,” Charlie said, while she typed in her computer. “There must be some Trap that you didn’t get to.”

Meg thought about it for a moment, and then snapped her fingers.

“The one in the dungeon!” she said. “It’s made of iron. I couldn’t have broken that one even if I’d tried.”

Something told Charlie that she had actually tried, but she didn’t say it out loud. She needed to order her thoughts. Her computer was frantically trying to give the runes more clarity. In the meantime, the creature they had released was roaming free around the bunker. What good would it do to learn how to use the box if they didn’t have the prisoner to match?

“We have to lure it there,” Charlie determined. “We have to keep it immobilized until we figure how to return it to the box… Cas, where are you going?”

“To lure the demon,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you just say that’s what we had to do?”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean… do you guys smell that?”

A disgusting, spicy stench had invaded the library all of the sudden. Charlie recognized it right away and started turning her head around. Sure enough, through the vent, there was a thick black smoke sliding inside the room in slow, lazy swirls that began rising and forming a humanoid figure. There were two shinning lights in what would have been its featureless face, and they were staring at them with greed and anger.

Charlie didn’t have to think much about the next step.

“Go, kids, go!”

The cats jumped to the floor, hissing and meowing at the black figure with their backs all bristled. Castiel grabbed the box and Meg’s hand while Charlie held on to her computer. They made a run for the door and slammed it shut. It didn’t really help, because a moment later, the smoke was sliding through the keyhole.

“Go!” Charlie repeated.

Human and cats began a desperate career around the bunker, but every time they turned around or shut another door, the smoke began sliding in through the smallest of holes.

“We should split!” Castiel gasped when they locked themselves in the garage. “It can’t follow us all.”

“No!” Charlie was not willing to let the little monsters out of her sight at all. She eyed her computer nervously. The runes were becoming readable enough, so that was a silver lining. “That should be our last resort,” she added.

“Well, it doesn’t look like we have many others resources left,” Meg pointed out. “I’ve never seen a demon like this, though. They’re normally not so solid ‘til the possess someone.”

Castiel was pacing around with a contracted expression than more than ever made him seem like a small adult. Then he raised his head, his eyes glimmering.

“The vent conducts!” he said. “We can reach the dungeon through them!”

“I know Rowena shrunk us, but we’re not that small, Clarence,” Meg pointed out.

“No, not us,” Castiel replied. “Them!”

He pointed at the cats, who were perching on the boot of one of the cars, probably wondering what would be the next step in this game of hide and seek that the humans were playing.

“No,” Meg hugged _Mephistopheles_ protectively. “And besides, what good would that be? Cats can’t perform exorcisms!”

“No, but they can lure the demon there!” Castiel pointed out, his eyes shining with the enthusiasm of having found a solution to a complicated problem. “And trap it until we figure out how to put it back in the box.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” Meg protested. “Charlie, tell him it’s stupid.”

Charlie didn’t answer right away.

“Charlie!”

“Well, it’s not without flaw,” their babysitter admitted. “First we’d have to know how the demon’s tracking us and…”

She didn’t finish the phrase. The smell of brimstone was floating around them once again.

“Let’s go!”

They sprinted towards the door, but apparently the demon was getting strong, because this time it formed even before they managed to get out. It stretched a thick incorporeal tentacle, and grabbed Meg by the ankle.

“Cas!” she screamed as she fell to the floor.

 _Mephistopheles_ turned around and ran towards the demon, howling madly. The little angel did the same thing.

“Leave her alone!” he roared, raising a hand.

A white, blinding light surged from his palm and hit the demon in what would’ve been his chest. There was an earsplitting shriek, and then the smoke dispersed in the air.

Mephistopheles growled one last time and then started rubbing himself against Meg, who scratched him behind the ears and assured him she was alright.

“Really?” Charlie protested, as Castiel helped Meg to her feet. “Why couldn’t you do that before?”

“It’s not gone,” Castiel explained. “I’m not strong enough to smite it, but at least it would be some time before it can collect itself.”

“And a bit of time is exactly what we need,” Meg said, apparently already recovered. “I know who the demon is and how it keeps finding us.”

 

* * *

 

“So… you feel like dessert?” Dean asked.

“Not really, but you go ahead,” Sam said.

So Dean signaled the waitress to come closer and asked her to detail exactly what kind of pies they had in the menu.

 

* * *

 

“The name’s Marquis Shax,” the little girl explained. “He used to be a spy for Hell, letting humans conjure him to learn about them. He’s said to have great hearing and an acute sight.”

“That’s how he finds us,” the boy said. “He follows the sound of our voices.”

“The Men of Letters must have figured out he was up to something,” the girl added.

“And they locked him up here,” the woman said. “So now we have to put him back in there.”

Shax smiled (or he would have, if he’d had a mouth) and kept sliding through the air vents. He thought there would be a legion of Men of Letters waiting out for him when he finally broke free, but instead he had found those curious little creatures who did nothing but to run from him. Granted, the boy seemed to have some sort of celestial power and there was definitely something familiar in the girl, but he didn’t stop to think about that much. Once he had them all in his power, he’d have all the time in the world to analyze that riddle.

They voices moved and now seemed to be in a different room.

“And how are we going to do that?”

“There must be a way to get closer to him,” the woman was saying.

Shax was already thinking about how good it would feel to inhabit a solid body again, and it’d have to be hers. The other two were far too small. Once he had her, he’d get out of there and find Abaddon… she couldn’t be far, probably raising the army that would bring the glory of their Master Lucifer…

“And what if it doesn’t work?” the boy asked.

“We’ll have to improvise, then.”

Shax let out a sound that could have been a laughter, and materialized (as much as he could, anyway) in the middle of the room. He looked around, but his red-tinted vision indicated the room was empty… except for the extraordinarily large cat sitting right outside the circle. Someone had taped some sort of sound device to its back.

Shax looked down, understanding way too late what had happened.

The door opened. The red-haired woman and the two children strutted in, the wooden box in their hands.

Shax yelled something incomprehensible as the little boy began chanting the old spell that had once been used to trap him. He tried fighting, but he had nowhere to run, and the pull from the box was much too strong.

And just like that, the Infernal Marquis returned to its prison.

Charlie closed the lid with a sigh.

“Well,” she said, smiling. “That was some really solid teamwork.”

 

* * *

 

“Ready?” Dean asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Sam sighed.

They opened the bunker’s door.

The brothers weren’t sure what they expected to find. Debris, mostly. Charlie running out and telling them she wanted nothing to do with them ever again. Probably both.

But everything seemed to be exactly the way they left it: the shelves were standing in its place, none of the light bulbs was broken and there wasn’t a zoo of wild animals following Castiel around.

“Huh,” Sam said. “It’s spotless. Did they clean in here?”

“Looks liked it,” Dean frowned. “Do you smell that? It’s that lemon? Did they just spread deodorant everywhere?”

The brothers exchanged confused looks and kept going. They found Charlie slumbering on the couch, with each of the little monsters at her sides, also fast asleep. The cats were jumping around a wooden box over the table, hissing at it and hesitantly stretching their pawns to touch it.

Sam grabbed the box. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was best if he put away. When he returned, Dean was covering Charlie and the kids with some blankets. The older Winchester put a finger to his lips, and they both tiptoed out of the room.


	17. Bully

“I want to go next!”

“Wait for your turn!”

“Hey, look what I can do!”

“Be careful, you’re going to fall!”

The usual sound from the playground reached his ears. Castiel looked at the other kids from the classroom’s window with a certain longing he couldn’t understand. Last year it had been pretty easy to blend in with them, to talk to them like they were peers, to join their games, and he was almost sad when the school year had ended. They couldn’t invite friends for play dates for obvious reasons, and Meg put her tongue between her lips and made a farting sound every time somebody invited them.

“Meg, why you have to be so mean to our friends?” Castiel had asked her then.

“Cas, they’re not our friends. We’re not really kids,” Meg had reminded him.

No he was starting to see what she meant. Maybe the other children were, too.

“Are you just going to stand there and sigh sadly all day?” Meg asked him from her desk.

As usual, she was busy drawing and painting something. It was still rare that she would let Castiel see her work, but when he managed to steal a glance over her shoulder, he could see some visible progress.

Castiel sat down on the floor and sighed sadly.

“I don’t understand, Meg,” he said. “What has changed?”

“Maybe you’re finally starting to grow up,” she suggested.

“No, I don’t think so,” Castiel said, remembering the marks Dean had made on the doorway. “Maybe it’s not me that’s changed, but them.”

That got Meg to finally put her pencil down.

“Okay, explain.”

“I have been told I am not welcomed to join their games anymore,” Castiel said, dishearteningly leaning his chin on his hand. “That I am far too strange for them to feel comfortable around me.”

Meg was pretty certain those weren’t the words they had used.

“Who told you that?” she asked.

“Julian.”

“Cas, you can’t pay attention to what Julian says,” Meg stood up from her chair and walked up to him. “He’s an ugly stupid bully.”

“He is?” Castiel said, confused. He stood up and looked outside once again. “But look, they’re playing with him.”

Julian was pacing in front of a row of kids, like a general reviewing his troops. Most of the kids, truth be told, were shifting uncomfortable on their spots and it was obvious they would much rather be doing something else.

“Yeah, that’s cause they’re terrified of what he’ll do to them if they don’t,” Meg clarified with an eye roll for emphasis.

“Well, that’s not right,” Castiel frowned. “We need to do something about it.”

Meg blinked, and for a moment it seemed like she was about to tell Castiel that school’s playground policies were not their business. But then a slow smirk started spreading on her face.

“Why not?” she agreed. “Julian might be a big bully, but I’m a bigger bully.”

 

* * *

 

Meg and Castiel waited patiently until the next recess. They followed Julian with their eyes until he had gathered his squad of terrified minions and made them form a line once again. Julian paced in front of them shouting something, and the other kids responded with an automatic and terrified: “Sir, yes, sir!”

“For real?” Meg scoffed. “He’s not even that scary.”

“And I don’t think he’s ever received any sort of military training,” Castiel added.

“Hello, Cas,” said a girl with thick glasses and braids. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hello, Peggy,” they both greeted her.

Of all the kids in the school, Peggy was one of the few Meg sincerely liked. She found her endearing, with her braces and her freckled on the bridge of her nose. The fact she worshipped Meg and was always telling her how talented she was didn’t hurt either.

“What are you doing here, Peggy?” Castiel asked. “Why aren’t you on the monkey bars? You love that.”

“Julian says I can’t play there anymore,” Peggy said, scratching her elbow and looking down. “He says that’s part of the training camp now and that I’m not allowed to join the army because I’m a girl.”

“Well, that’s really stupid,” Meg said.

“Not to mention a severely outdated attitude,” Castiel agreed.

“What does ‘ _outdated_ ’ mean?”

“Never mind that,” Meg said before Castiel began a linguistic diatribe. “I say it’s time we put Julian in his place, no?”

Peggy’s face lit up, like she had absolute faith that if someone could end Julian’s reign of terror, that was Meg.

“How are we going to do that?” she asked.

“Watch,” Meg said, flipping her hair back and confidently stalking in Julian’s direction.

The bully was twisting another kid’s arm, a boy named Mark, who kept sobbing and trying to escape the iron-like grip.

“What did you say?” Julian asked. “What did you say to me, again?”

“N-Nothing, sir,” Mark cried. “I-I didn’t say anything.”

“Thought so,” Julian said, finally letting go off him. “Anyone else wants to protest? Oh, look,” he said when the trio entered his line of vision. “It’s the weirdo and his _girlfriend_.”

He obviously expected the other boys to laugh, but they had learned long ago that it was not a good idea to mess with Meg and specially, not to mock her relationship with Cas. So instead, they remained in a tense silence, looking alternatively at Julian and Meg, like they weren’t sure who they wanted to win.

“You _wish_ somebody liked you enough to be your girlfriend,” Meg replied.

“Meg says it’s stupid and outdated you won’t let me play soldiers with you,” Peggy said, in a strange fit of courage. Of course, when Julian fixed his eyes in her, Peggy crouched behind Meg.

“Oh, she says that, don’t she?” Julian asked, mockingly.

“It’s _does_ she,” Castiel corrected him before he could stop himself. Julian stared at him like rules and grammar where things beyond his understanding.

“Nobody asked you, weirdo.”

“Wow. Such eloquence,” Meg chuckled.

Julian didn’t know what ‘ _eloquence_ ’ meant and neither did many of the other kids, but they had the serious suspicion Meg had just insulted the bully, and they couldn’t help a couple of giggles.

“Shut up!” he snapped at them. “And you, Masters, you better clear out or…”

“Or what?” Meg asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Julian’s face went red. She wasn’t at all intimidated by him, and that was something Julian didn’t know how to deal with, so he went for a weaker target.

“And you, _Margaret_ , with your stupid looking glasses,” he told her. “I bet if I take them you can’t see beyond your ugly nose.”

Julian took a step towards Peggy, his hand stretched ready to do exactly as he said.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Meg warned him in a singsong tune.

Julian stopped for a second to consider the possible consequences of what he was about to do. And then, he decided to do it anyway. He grabbed Peggy’s glasses and pushed her down to the ground. Peggy fell down heavily, with tears of indignation forming in the corner of her eyes.

“Hey!” Castiel screamed. “Give them back!”

“Why don’t you take them back, weirdo?” Julian said, rising the glasses above his head. He was the tallest kid of the class, so even Castiel would have troubles reaching them. He tried jumping to get them anyway.

“Why don’t you mess with someone your own size, asshole?” Meg asked, taking a step closer to Julian.

All the kids gasped in horror. Meg had just said a curse word loud enough for anyone to hear. Even Julian was impressed, but not enough to stop his bravado.

“What? Like you?” he asked.

By that time, everyone on the playground had gathered around them, so there were many witnesses and later, their versions would differ greatly. Some would swear up and down that Meg’s eyes had gone pitch black; some would say she spoke with a deep voice that couldn’t possibly come from her throat and cursed Julian for all eternity. Some would even add that a perfectly sunny morning suddenly got cloudy and that there were thunders and lightning, but they were probably exaggerating.

What everyone agreed on was that Meg said one simple word: “Yes.”

And in the blink of an eye, Julian was hanging upside down from the swing set, tied up with the chains and yelling for someone to help him get down. The kids exploded in cheers and claps, pointing at Julian with their fingers and laughing out loud. No one was concerned enough to go call an adult.

Cas picked Peggy’s glasses up from the ground.

“There you go, Peggy, see?” he said, giving them back to the crying girl. “They’re not broken or anything.”

Peggy sniffed, put on her glasses again and offered them a tearful smile.

“Was that you?” Meg asked pointing at the hanging Julian.

“Too much?” Castiel asked, lowering his eyes in shame.

“A bit. I was just going to scare him,” Meg shrugged.

“What are you talking about?” Peggy asked, looking at them confused.

“Don’t worry about it, Peggy,” Meg said, helping her to her feet. “I’m sensing we’re gonna have bigger problems soon.”

Castiel turned around to see Miss Lorelei sprinting towards their corner of the playground.

“Uh-oh.”


	18. Runaway

Dean came home after a long shift at the bar and flopped down on the couch with a growl. _Mr. Whiskers_ purred and rubbed against his leg, asking to be picked up.

“You know you’ll get nothing from me,” Dean told the cat. “Go away.”

The tabby cat took that as an invitation, so he jumped to Dean’s lap and cuddled up to sleep. Dean was too tired to shoo him away. He put an arm over his eyes and figured he’d rest for ten minutes and then he’d get up and make dinner… weren’t Sam and the little monsters supposed to be back from school already…? Oh, well…

The door slammed, jolting Dean awake in time to see Meg stomping across the library in her room’s direction, with _Mephistopheles_ following her close as silent and dark as the small demon’s shadow.

“Don’t bang the doors like that!” Sam shouted behind her.

“Sam!” Cas protested, tugging from his shirt.

“Not now, Cas!” Sam replied. “Meg, come here right this instant!”

There was another slam, this time from Meg’s bedroom, and Sam threw his arms in the air, like he was begging for patience.

“Did I miss something?” Dean yawned.

“I got a call from the principal,” Sam explained. “Guess who hanged up a boy upside down from the swing set.”

Dean shoulders slumped. “Oh, no.”

“But Sam…” Castiel insisted.

“Oh, yes,” Sam nodded. “The kid’s father was furious. I mean, ready to gouge out my eyeballs furious.”

“He was too short to gouge out your eyeballs, and so am I, but I can still climb, Sam Winchester,” Castiel said, in a quivering tone.

Dean thought he hadn’t heard correctly. For a moment, he figured Cas would have his eyes all glassy and he’d be tugging as his small brown shirt like he did when he was nervous, but instead, the small angel had his fist clenched very tight and he was looking up at Sam, almost like he was trying to make himself bigger.

“Cas, this is not the time,” Sam groaned. “Go to your room.”

“No, I’m not going to my room!” Cas protested, kicking the ground in frustration. “I’ve been trying to get you to listen to me all the way from the school, but you just kept yelling at Meg!”

“Meg needs to understand she can’t use her powers like that, Cas,” Sam explained. “People can’t know what you guys are, you know that!”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Cas shouted.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me…”

“Okay, okay, time out, both of you,” Dean put _Mr. Whiskers_ aside and knelt in front of Cas. “Do you know something about this, buddy?”

Cas nodded. “Meg didn’t do it,” he said. “She told the principal she did, but it was me. I hanged Julian upside down because he stole Peggy’s glasses and he wouldn’t give them back. Peggy was crying and just…”

“Okay, so you used a little of your mojo on a bully,” Dean sighed, and patted Cas on the shoulder. “No big deal. Next time, just don’t… don’t hang them from anywhere.”

“But Meg had nothing to do with it!” Cas repeated, as that was the main point he was trying to convey. “You didn’t have to yell at her, Sam!”

Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’m getting that just now.”

“You better go apologize,” Dean said. “’Cause I ain’t cleaning if she throws a tantrum.”

“Fine, fine,” Sam protested, but walked towards Meg’s room anyway. He knocked on the door. “Meg?” he called. There was no answer. “Meg, I know you’re mad. Cas told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

Silence. Sam tried the doorknob, and to his surprise, he found the door unlocked.

“Meg?” he kept calling. She was nowhere to be seen. “Are you hiding?” Sam asked. He checked under the bed and inside the closet, but Meg wasn’t there. Confused and thinking that maybe she’d gone out while they were arguing, he went into the kitchen, where Cas was having some milk and animal crackers while Dean started with the dinner preparations. “Hey, guys, is Meg here?”

“Why would she be here?” Dean asked.

“She’s not in her room.”

Cas choked with the head of the dinosaur he just bit and looked at him with horror in his big blue eyes. “What do you mean she’s not in her room?”

“Just follow that devil cat of hers,” Dean suggested. “She can’t be too far from where that beast is.”

“Good idea!” Castiel said, and picked up his own cat from the floor. “ _Mr. Whiskers_ , I need you to please help us find _Mephistopheles_.”

 _Mr. Whiskers_ meowed, very seriously, and then jumped off. Castiel followed suit.

“You actually think the cat understands him?” Dean asked.

“Dean, focus. Meg is gone,” Sam said. “She could be anywhere. There are still plenty of Devil Trap’s around here. What if she wandered off into one accidentally?”

“Ah, crap,” Dean put the knife aside and cleaned off his hands. “We better look for her, then.”

Two hours later, they had checked every inch and every secret room in the bunker and found no trace of the demon. Castiel wasn’t following _Mr. Whiskers_ anymore, because he kept hugging him for moral support lest he burst into tears, and Sam was panicking.

“What if she left?” he asked Dean. “What if she up and left like,  _left_ , Dean? Anything could happen to her! Other demons could find her! Or hunters or…!

“Sam, that’s not really helping,” Dean said through gritted teeth. He was an inch away of losing his shit too, but he kept it together because last time Castiel had cried they had to replace every light bulb in the place.

“It’s my fault,” Sam said, running his fingers through his hair nervously. “If I had listened to her…”

“Hey, you can tell her all that once we find her, alright?” Dean cut him off. “And we’re going to find her.”

Castiel wiped his tears and nodded, with a decided expression.

The logical next step, if Meg wasn’t in there, was to look for her outside. The sun was sinking and the woods were getting dark already, so Dean gave both Cas and Sam a flashlight.

“Cas and I will take west,” he told Sam. “You take east.”

“ _Mr. Whiskers_ will go with you,” Cas said, and knelt next to the cat to give him orders.

Sam thought about telling him that he didn’t think _Mr. Whiskers_ would be all that helpful, but he had already managed to get one kid pissed off at him, and that was more than enough for a day. So he started following the east trail, with _Mr. Whiskers_ trotting diligently at his heels.

“Meg?” Sam called. “Meg!”

 _Mr. Whiskers_ hissed, and then he left the path to climb a tree.

“Oh, no,” Sam groaned. If he lost the cat too, he could count on Castiel never talking to him again. “ _Mr. Whiskers_!” he called him, trying to follow his silhouette with the flashlight. But the cat had already disappeared amongst the branches. “ _Mr. Whiskers_ , come back down here!”

“Don’t be so loud!” a small voice answered from the top of the tree. “You’ll scare him!”

“Meg!” Sam cried, relieved. “Meg, what are you doing up there?” he asked, when he managed to localize her. She was sitting in one of the thickest branches, wrapped up in her favorite blanket. _Mr. Whiskers_ was on her lap and _Mephistopheles_ on her shoulders, like a sort of strange scarf. “Come down!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Meg shrugged. “I like it up here. It’s quiet.”

Sam took a deep breath, and realized he wasn’t going to get Meg to talk to him unless he got to her level. So, he put the flashlight in his back pocket and started climbing the tree. Which was sort of a difficult task, because he was a six foot tall man and not a cat or a ten year old demon. He heard some of the branches cracking suspiciously under his weigh, and on a couple of occasions he was sure he’d end up on the floor with a broken limb. But luckily, they resisted until he was high enough to talk to Meg face to face.

“Hello,” he said, affirming his feet.

“Go away, I don’t want to talk to you,” Meg growled, and pulled the blanket over her head. “Dean is my favorite now. I just decided.”

“Come on, Meg, I’m sorry,” Sam apologized. “I made a snap judgment. I was wrong. Can you forgive me?”

The bundle that Meg had become shivered, but she didn’t answer.

“Okay, don’t forgive me,” Sam sighed. “But at least come home? Cas is very worried about you.”

Meg’s face appeared again. “He is?”

“Of course he is,” Sam said. “He thinks it’s his fault you went away because he didn’t get me to stop screaming at you earlier.”

Meg scratched _Mephistopheles_ ears, like she was considering it, so Sam insisted.

“Look, I know why you told the principal you did it,” he said. “You wanted to take care of Cas. You always do.”

“Yeah,” Meg cringed. “But don’t tell him that. I don’t want him to think I’m a loser like he is.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sam laughed. “I promised. Can we get down from this tree now? I don’t think it can hold me much longer.”

“It will,” Meg assured him. “I’m using my powers on it.”

Sam looked down and realized the branch he was standing in was cracked through and through. When he raised his head again, Meg threw her arms around his neck.

“You’re still my favorite, you idiot.”


	19. Halloween

Sam blinked, trying to keep his eyelids from closing indefinitely. The letters of the book he was reading had become blurry several pages ago, but he kept muddling through them because the topic was just so interesting. The Man of Letters who had written the story had compiled several books on demonic hierarchy and influence, and even though the name of all the demons and the rituals to summoning them were completely scrambled on Sam’s head at that point… he yawned. Okay, one more page, he told himself. One more page and then he would get up to make some coffee…

A brown hairy figure appeared suddenly in his line of vision.

Sam tried to get and reach for a weapon at the same time, which somehow resulted in him falling back chair and everything. The figure approached until Sam could see its fur. The hunter jumped to his feet, ready to grab a lamp and hit the monster… when the damn thing took off its head.

“Dude,” Dean asked, holding the head under his arm. “Where’s your costume?”

“What?” Sam rubbed his eyes and ascertained he was not sleeping. Which meant that his brother was really in front of him wearing a Chewbacca costume. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why aren’t you?” Dean asked.

Sam pinched his nose.

“Halloween,” he remembered.

“Yeah, and we’re supposed to take the little monsters trick-or-treating in fifteen minutes,” Dean reminded him. “So suit up.”

Sam mumbled something under his breath as he put a marker between the pages of the book and closed it.

“What?”

“I said I don’t want to,” Sam repeated, louder. “I’ll come with you, okay? But don’t make me wear a damn costume…”

“Oh, come on, man!” Dean protested. “Get with the holiday’s spirit!”

“What’s so great about Halloween anyway?” Sam groaned.

“What’s so great about it?!” an indignant voice asked. “Free candy, that’s what’s great about it!”

Meg and Castiel had just entered the library. Meg was wearing a stiff black dress and had braided her hair to imitate Wednesday Adam’s style, while Castiel was wearing a suit and a cape. He said something, realized no one understood him, and took his fake fangs out.

“I said I reckon this monster outfits are highly inaccurate, and I fail to understand the connection between popular fictional characters and the ancient Samhain celebration,” he repeated. “But the perspective of receiving a large amount of processed sugar just for dressing like this brings me great joy.”

Meg took the fangs from Castiel hand and put them back into his mouth.

“There,” she said. “Much cuter.”

“See, Sam? They’re excited,” Dean said, pointing at them. “Don’t be a killjoy.”

Sam was about to answer something when there were three loud knocks on the door. The brothers exchanged glances and Dean looked at the clock.

“It’s a little early for trick-or-treating.”

“Yeah, not to mention the fact that no one in their right mind takes their kids trick-or-treating _in the middle of the woods_ and knock of the door of _the suspicious bunker_ ,” Sam pointed out.

“We need to have a talk about your attitude issues,” Dean groaned as he went to the door to open it.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He certainly did not expect the little finger that jabbed him in the nose and the high-pitched squeal that followed:

“SQUIRREL!”

“Well, hello, Dean!” Rowena greeted him. “Nice costume.”

“Right back at you,” Dean said, blinking in confusion. Rowena was once again wearing one of her elegant black dresses, but she added a pointy witch hat on top of her red hair. Dean figured it must have been a joke of some kind. “Is that Crowley?”

“Fergus,” Rowena corrected him, raising the toddler she was carrying a little higher. “Say hi, sweetie.”

“Squirrel!” the baby repeated. He was as fat as Dean remembered him, although much bigger. Or maybe that was the effect the pumpkin onesie he was wearing had.

“May we come in?” Rowena asked, even though she was already passing by Dean and heading for the stairs.

“Rowena?” Sam asked. “What are you…?”

He was interrupted by a loud cackle that echoed all around the bunker. Meg was grabbing her stomach and pointing at Crowley, while she laughed manically.

“Oh, my God!” she shouted. “Oh, my God, that is too good! Where’s the camera?”

“I already took several pictures of my pretty little pumpkin,” Rowena said searching for something inside her cleavage. She took out a cellphone and passed it to Meg. “Isn’t he cute?”

“This is golden,” Meg said, as she passed the pictures and showed to Cas. “Look how constipated he looks in this one!”

“What are you doing here?” Sam finished his question with a sigh.

“Go play with your friends, sweetie,” Rowena said as she put down Crowley. The baby took a couple of unsure steps and then fell on his ass. “Well, as you had not visited me or called me in several months, I thought I would drop by and see how you were doing.”

Sam crossed his arms and Dean huffed, incredulous.

“Okay, fine,” Rowena said, rolling her eyes. “I’m actually here to ask you a favor. As you may have noticed, my relationship with Fergus has improved greatly since he began to learn how to speak and actually ask for things instead of just crying for them. But he’s still rather clumsy… no, honey, don’t touch that!”

The Winchesters turned around to see Meg kneeling in front of Crowley with a big butcher knife.

“Don’t worry, it’s a prop,” Meg said.

“Meg, stop trying to murder Crowley,” Dean groaned.

“But I wasn’t trying to…!”

“Stop, or we won’t take you trick-or-treating,” Sam threatened her.

Castiel said something unintelligible while Meg disappointedly put the knife away.

“Right,” Rowena continued while keeping a worried eye on Meg. “As I was saying, I am not convinced that I should take him with me to the place I am going tonight.”

“Where exactly are you going?” Dean wanted to know.

“My dear boy, it’s Samhain,” Rowena explained, as if it was obvious. “It’s like New Year’s Day for witches. Further moon, there’s a full moon tonight. You know how rare that is? It’s a once in a couple of lifetimes opportunity to renew one’s powers, catch up with the hottest coven gossip…”

“Wait, so you came here to dump Crowley on us so you can go partying for the night?” Sam interrupted her.

“Well… I was going to beat around the bush a little longer, but essentially, yes,” Rowena admitted. “I couldn’t just hire a nanny. All the teenage kids are out tonight losing their virginities and getting killed in increasingly bloody ways.”

“That doesn’t really happen,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes, it does!” Meg shouted. The little monsters were obviously not missing a word of what was being said, and were too caught up in the adult’s conversation to notice Crowley had begun to chew Castiel’s cape.

“And besides, you’re the only ones who are aware of Fergus’ special situation,” the witch continued. “Who else was I going to trust? I mean, we are practically family…”

“We are not family,” Sam interrupted her.

“We are the furthest thing from family,” Dean said. “So, I’m sorry, Rowena, but no. You either take Crowley with you or get someone else to watch out for him, because we are not down with this.”

Meg squealed delighted and clapped. Rowena’s smile disappeared.

“I don’t think you’re understanding the situation here,” she said. Her friendly singsong tone became colder and more threatening. “I have been taking care of that little stinker for months on end, without a break or rest. I _deserve_ a night to myself!” she said, raising her voice. “You are going to take Fergus in for the night, or so help me Morrigan…!”

The Winchesters seemed utterly unimpressed by the threat. Rowena let out a frustrated yelp, and stomped on the ground.

“You want me to beg? Is that it?”

The Winchesters remained impassible. Sam even put on his best bitch-face to really drive the point home.

“Is it payment you want? Because I can pay,” Rowena continued and once again looked for something inside her cleavage. “I swear I had it here somewhere… ah, there it is,” she said, after lifting her dress and extracting a little crystal vial from her sock. “Essence of dragon tears. From my personal ingredients cabinet. Trust me, this is more than what any nanny in the world would receive as payment.”

“As we’ve told you…” Dean began, but Sam pinched him in the arm just a little too tight.

“Excuse us for a moment,” he said, and dragged his brother a little away from the witch.

“What?” Dean said, upon taking a second look at Sam’s face. “You can’t possibly be considering this! In case you haven’t noticed, we already have our hands full without throwing a – Cas, don’t let him drool on your trousers! – a demonic baby to the mix.”

“Dragon tears, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? I mean, we could need them some day.”

“What could we possibly need dragon tears for?” Dean asked, rolling his eyes.

“There’s a number of spells that require them,” Sam said with a slight shrug.

“Name one.”

Sam raised his finger and then promptly put it back down.

“There’s probably a number of spells that might just require them,” he corrected himself. Dean remained unconvinced. “Okay, look. You don’t have to do it. I’ll do it. You can take Meg and Cas trick-or-treating and I’ll stay here with Crowley.”

“And you get to not wear a costume,” Dean groaned.

“Yes,” Sam said. “Everybody wins.”

“Well?” Rowena asked, making both brothers jump because they hadn’t seen her approaching them. “What have you decided?”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances once more, and in the end, Dean huffed and threw his hands in the air.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.

“Excellent!” Rowena exclaimed. “Fergus, sweetie, come here. Here, my boy!”

Crowley stood up from Castiel lap and took several hesitant steps until he was standing next to Rowena, grabbing the skirt of her shirt and sucking his thumb. Rowena picked him up and put him in Sam’s arms (she had to stand on the tip of her toes to do it).

“Now, listen carefully, Fergus,” Rowena said, holding the baby’s chubby hands. “Mommy has to visit some old friends, so you’re going to stay with Sammy for a little while, okay? You like Sammy, don’t you?”

Crowley looked up and grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair.

“Moose!” he said.

“That’s right. You’re a good boy,” Rowena said, pinching his cheeks. “Now,” she said, and with a theatrical gesture, a big bag and a baby seat appeared on the library’s table. “He likes his formula just this side of warm. Give him a bottle and he’ll fall asleep right away. You can also give him some puree, if you want, but not too much, or you’ll have to change his diapers more often, if you catch my drift.”

“I think I can handle myself, Rowena,” Sam said. Dean scoffed audibly.

“Oh, and if he gets restless,” Rowena added, looking for something inside the bag. “You give him Captain Bear, and it should be alright.”

She handed Crowley a stuff bear with a pirate suite and a captain hat. The baby squealed with delight and started sucking on his ear. Meg began laughing hysterically again.

“Why does it only have one eye?” Castiel asked, after removing his teeth.

“He swallowed the other. Long story,” Rowena said. She leaned over to kiss Crowley’s forehead. “Goodbye, my sweet evil prince. I’ll be back in a flash.”

She took two steps backwards, and then disappeared in a cloud of violet smoke.

“She _is_ going to come back, isn’t she?” Dean asked, suddenly worried.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam said, although he didn’t sound as confident as he would’ve liked.

As if he had perceived the doubt in his voices, Crowley stopped sucking Captain Bear’s ear, looked around and upon not seeing his mother, he began shouting at the top of his lungs. His screams pierced everybody’s ears and made the bunker’s lights blink.

“Oh… Dean…” Sam began.

“Nope. He’s your responsibility now,” Dean said, putting Chewbacca’s head back on. “Let’s go, kids,” he added in a muffled voice.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Meg said with a grimace. Even Castiel seemed like he couldn’t climb the stairs to the door fast enough.

Sam was left alone with the sobbing baby. He took him by the shoulders and lifted in the air until they could see eye to eye.

“So…” he began. “How you’ve been, Crowley?”

The baby began shouting again.

 

* * *

 

Dean parked the Impala on a side street and gave Meg and Castiel their bags with pumpkin bags.

“Now, if people don’t want to give out candy, it doesn’t mean you actually have to play some kind of awful trick on their houses,” he reminded them, glancing specifically on Meg’s direction.

“I know, I know,” Meg sighed, annoyed. “You never let me have any fun.”

“That’s ‘cause your idea of fun would get people severely maimed,” Dean said.

Meg stuck out her tongue at him before they joined a group of children who were already walking down the street with Peggy’s mom, who was dressed up in green thighs and a flower crown.

“Oh, hello… Dean, isn’t it?” she greeted them upon seeing them.

“Hi, Meg. Hi, Cas,” said the little ghost standing next to her.

“Hi, Peggy,” Meg greeted her. Castiel took out his fangs.

“I like your costume,” he said, even though Peggy had apparently just cut out a couple of holes in an old bed sheet and threw it over her head.

“Thank you. I like yours.”

“You’re welcome to join us, if you want,” the mom in the flower crown was saying. “It’s always nice to have extra back-up.”

“Oh, yes,” Dean said, putting a hand on each of his little monsters. “And these ones specially need a lot of back-up.”

Meg rolled her eyes and vowed to get out of Dean’s sight as soon as the opportunity presented itself.


	20. Scary

“Come on, Crowley,” Sam begged, holding the bottle in front of the baby’s face. “Just drink it. Please.”

Crowley kept screaming at the top of his lungs and shaking his little hands and his face, refusing to even look at Sam. It amazed the hunter how much energy the baby had, even though he was obviously tired of fighting against the seat’s straps and about to lose his voice from all the screaming. Meg would certainly enjoy the joke of the former King of Hell being a crying baby, but Sam just felt he was about to lose whatever he had left of his sanity.

“Is it not warm enough?” he asked, and threw a couple of drops in his arm to test the temperature.

In the time between him preparing it and finally wondering that, the formula had become too cold. Huffing, he marched into the kitchen and turned on the stove again. He was tempted to close the door, just because Crowley’s screaming was giving him the headache of the century, but he knew he couldn’t do that. So instead, he took his cellphone out from his back pocket and dialed Dean’s number.

His brother took more than a little to answer.

“Heya, Sammy,” he said. “Crowley giving you grief?”

“That’s all he can ever give to anyone,” Meg’s muffled voice said in the background.

“How long do you think you’re going to be gone?” Sam asked, trying not to let his desperation appear in his tone.

“Why, we’re just warming up here,” Dean said. “A couple more hours, I’d say. You know, if only you’d agreed to ditch Rowena and Crowley and put on the Han Solo costume I rented for you…”

“You don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“Yeah, I kinda do have to,” Dean laughed.

Sam groaned, again dropping a bit of formula in his forearm. Now it was too hot. Great.

“Well, good luck with that, little brother,” Dean continued. “We’re going to continue to have tons of fun without you.”

Dean hanged up before he could hear what Sam called him under his breath.

Sam tapped his fingers on the kitchen counter and rubbed his temple a couple of times. It took him several seconds to realize it was suddenly very quiet in the bunker. A rush of panic went down his spine. Rowena would probably be furious if something happened to Crowley, and it wasn’t like Sam enjoyed having her as a friend dropping by unannounced, but the perspective of having her as a sworn enemy was much worse.

He ran towards the library and to his relief, he saw the baby chair right where he left it, with the baby still strapped to it.

But the cats where crouching in front of him, probably wondering if they could eat this little human or if it was too dangerous even for them.

“No!” Sam muttered. “ _Mephistopheles_ , _Mr. Whiskers_ , get down from there!”

Of course, the cats ignored him as they continued to circle around the baby, who was cooing with delight and stretching his fat arms at them.

Sam moved as fast as he can without outright running, and still he was too late.

_Mephistopheles_ jumped at Crowley claws first, hissing and probably thinking what a nice dinner he’d have, but amazingly, Crowley was faster. He grabbed _Mephistopheles_ by the neck and shook it back and forth until the cat was meowing for help and Sam had no doubt he would resort to murder to escape.

“No!” Sam repeated, and snatched the cat from Crowley’s arms. “You’re hurting him!”

Crowley’s mouth opened in a grimace, and just before he began crying again, _Mr. Whisker_ , who apparently had a much better approach on how to make friends, got close to him purring and rub himself against the baby. The former King of Hell seemed shocked for a second, but then he laughed and hugged _Whiskers_ so tight it was a miracle the cat could still breathe. _Mephistopheles_ hissed at his brother (very likely calling him a traitor in their cat language) and jumped from Sam’s arms before disappearing around the corner with his tail angrily stiffed.

“You like cats,” Sam commented while Crowley kept holding _Whiskers_ and squealing. “Who would have thought?”

 

* * *

 

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Mrs. Thompson, the old lady that lived at the end of the street. “I only give out _healthy_ snacks.”

“Are you for real, lady?” Meg asked, her voice dripping with incredulity and anger.

“Have some carrot sticks for you, sweetie,” Mrs. Thompson continued, throwing them on Meg’s bag. “And some more for you. Oh, and a big juicy apple for you, young man, so you can grow tall and strong…”

“Thank you, miss,” Castiel said, humbly. (He had taken out and put on his fangs so many times during that night that he had ended up losing them somewhere between the last three streets).

“Well, that is all,” Mrs. Thompson said, oblivious to Meg’s murderous glare. “Happy Halloween, little ones!”

“Ugh, can you believe this woman?” Meg complained, looking at her carrot sticks like they had Devil Traps carved into them.

“Come on, Meg,” Castiel said, trying to cheer her up. “There’s nothing wrong with a healthy, nutritional diet.”

“Cheeseburgers,” Meg coughed under her breath.

“That doesn’t count!” Castiel protested. “Read meat has a lot of protein. And besides, they’re too delicious.”

“Your uncle seems to be getting along really well with my mom,” Peggy commented.

It was true. Just outside Mrs. Thompson’s garden gates, Dean seemed to be telling a funny story while Peggy’s mom laughed and flipped her hair a lot.

“Well, of course he is,” Meg rolled her eyes. “That’s what she gets for wearing thighs.”

“I don’t understand what that’s got to do with him being nice to her,” Peggy said, frowning in confusion.

“That doesn’t matter,” Meg declared. She looked around. The other children were still making the rounds on the houses on the streets and she calculated it’d be a while before they came back so Deand and Mrs. Watkins would escort them into the next street. “You guys wanna have some actual fun?”

Castiel’s shoulder tensed as soon as she said that.

“Meg, what are you planning?” he asked, in his more serious tone.

“Oh, nothing,” Meg said, batting her eyes with innocence. “Just that, you know… it’s Halloween and we haven’t done anything scary tonight yet.”

Castiel frowned, and Peggy hesitated if the position of her feet were anything to go by.

“What you have in mind?” she asked in the end.

“There’s an old house at the end of the lane,” Meg said, pointing in that direction. “It looks abandoned.”

“It isn’t abandoned,” Peggy said, with a note of fear in her voice. “It belongs to Mrs. Periwinkle. She’s a witch.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not,” Castiel said.

“She is so!”

“Just because an old lady lives alone in a decrepit house it doesn’t mean she’s a witch,” Castiel pointed out, logically.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Meg said. “I mean, look at Mrs. Thompson. Only a witch would be capable of this evil deed!” she added, waving the carrot sticks on Castiel’s face.

Peggy chuckled under her sheet, but Castiel didn’t seem convinced.

“We could get in a lot of trouble,” he said.

“Come _ooooon_ ,” Meg insisted, dragging the syllables. “When do you think was the last time somebody visited that old lady? You said it yourself, she’s probably not even a witch, but people think she is, so they keep away. Maybe she prepared candies and everything, but nobody goes to knock on her door. Imagine how sad she would be.”

“I wouldn’t want Mrs. Periwinkle to be sad because I think she’s a witch,” Peggy reflected. “On the other hand, she could be a witch…”

“She’s not a witch!” Castiel exclaimed, with impatience. “We’re going to visit her right now, and we’re going to prove exactly that.”

“Great,” Meg said, taking a furtive look at Dean and Mrs. Watkins. “Let’s hurry up, then.”

 

* * *

 

Back at the bunker, Crowley had finally drank down his bottle of formula, and was finally happy dozing off with Captain Bear clutched in his arms. Sam sighed with relief and opened the book he had been reading before he was so rudely interrupted. Where was he? Oh, yes, the rituals for summoning…

A loud screech shattered his concentration. Crowley had just woken up and was whimpering and crying again.

“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, extremely frustrated. “What is it now?”

A foul smell that had to be the most disgusting variety of sulfur he’d ever smelled invaded the air. Sam grimaced and held his breath as he approached Crowley.

“Okay… alright… oh, God,” he muttered, as he unstrapped Crowley from his chair and held him as far away from his body as he could. “Right. I’m going to… yes.”

First things first: he sure as hell wasn’t changing Crowley in a room full of invaluable books. He grabbed the bag and balancing the baby while he tried not to step on _Mephistopheles_ tail (who was still waiting for his chance at revenge), he started searching for a place where to dispose some literal demonic crap.

 

* * *

 

Even Castiel had to admit Mrs. Periwinkle’s house was very eerie. The garden was full of nettle and weed, the window’s blinds were about to fall to the ground, there were several tiles from the roof missing and the porch’s steps looked like they would give in the minute someone put so much as a toe on them. To top it all, there was a cat black as midnight just chilling by the gate. He observed them with his bright orange eyes and meowed lazily.

Peggy, who had finally taken off the sheet, looked a bit pale underneath her freckles.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea, guys,” she said. “I mean, look at that cat. That’s definitely a witch’s cat.”

“She’s not a witch!” Castiel repeated for the millionth time. His tone had become increasingly irritated.

“Well… only one way to find out for sure,” Meg said.

The gate squeaked opened when she pushed it, and the leaves crunched under her feet. Castiel followed her immediately, and Peggy did the same because staying by herself at the gate was far worse than following her friends into unknown territory.

Finally, Meg stopped a few steps away from the porch, staring up at the house before turning around so fast her braids drew a circle around her head.

“It doesn’t look like anybody’s home,” she commented and took a step back.

Castiel grabbed her by the arm to stop her. “Meg, we came all this way because you said so,” he groaned.

“Yes, but it’d just occurred to me that if this woman is a witch, she probably has protections of some kind,” Meg shrugged. “And if she does, we are going to get in a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, you’ve just think of that?” Castiel said, looking up at the sky like he expected celestial help of some kind.

“What if she eats children?” Peggy asked, scratching her shoulder fearfully.

“Not all witches are cannibals,” Castiel consoled her, although he didn’t really that in Peggy’s mind he’d just made two equally terrifying statements: one, that witches were real, and two, that some of them really did snatch naughty children to dine them.

“I’m with Meg,” she said, losing what little was left of her courage. “We should go.”

“Unbelievable,” Castiel huffed.

The trio had just turned their backs on the house when they heard a noise that made the hair of the back of their heads stand on end: the creaking sound of a door turning on its rusty hinges.


	21. Witches

Dean and Jackie Watkins spent a great deal of time panicking and running around calling their children the minute they realized they were nowhere to be seen.

“I know I should have put a bell on them,” Dean said, cursing under his breath.

Finally, a kid dressed as Batman remembered seeing them turning around the corner, so Dean told Jackie to stay with the group of kids they were supervising and ran there. He found the creepy, rickety house and immediately deduced Meg and the pull for that house in a night like that had something to do with their disappearance. He touched the belt under his outfit and extracted the gun he had tucked in there (because you never knew when you were going to need a gun) and crossed the messy garden towards the house.

An old lady with comically magnified eyes behind enormous glasses opened the door after he knocked.

“Yes?” she said, squinting at Dean.

“Hi, good night, I’m sorry to bother you,” Dean said, clutching the gun. “I’m looking for some kids…”

“Hello, Dean!” Castiel’s distinct voice called from behind.

The old lady moved over to reveal Meg, Cas and Penny sitting in her living room (which was pretty warm and homely compared to the outside), each nibbling on a generous portion of cake.

Dean breathed out in relief and put the safety back on in his gun.

“The hell you’ve been, guys?” he asked, angrily.

“Mrs. Periwinkle invited us in to have cake,” Peggy said, as if that wasn’t obvious enough.

“You could have at least given a little warning of where you were going!”

“Cake,” Meg replied, like that defeated any argument Dean might have wielded.

“Oh, they’re such a delight,” Mrs. Periwinkle said with a beatific smile and a strange accent Dean couldn’t identify. “You know it’s been years since the last time a child knocked on my door on Halloween? Can’t really understand why.”

“Me neither,” Dean lied. “Alright, kids, let’s go. Peggy, your mom’s worried sick about you.”

“Oh, okay,” Peggy said, stuffing the last bits of cake in her mouth. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Periwinkle!”

“Bye, Mrs. Periwinkle!”

“Goodbye, children!” the old lady said, waving at them from the porch. “Come visit me again sometime!”

“What a nice old lady,” Peggy commented. “I’m pretty sure she’s not a witch.”

“Oh, no, she most definitely is,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, you noticed the mandrake growing in her window?” Meg added. “Totally a witch.”

“What are you guys babbling on about?” Dean intervened.

“Don’t worry about it, Peggy,” Castiel said, when he noticed Peggy’s suddenly pale expression. “I’m sure she’s one of the nice ones.”

 

* * *

 

Luckily for Sam, Dean had spent most of the trip back to the bunker scolding the little monsters and trying to prevent them from snacking on the night’s loot (and failing). By the time they walked in, he was pretty much done talking and Meg and Castiel were tired and with a belly full of sweets. Sam didn’t even wake up from where he was slumbering on the library’s table with his face hidden in his arms.

“Ah, look at him,” Dean whispered. “Sleeping like a baby.”

“He is a baby,” Castiel pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, Crowley’s still here,” Dean noticed.

Meg tiptoed towards the table and attentively observed the former King of Hell.

“Come on, even you have to admit he’s kinda cute like that,” Dean told her.

“I was actually wondering how long it would take me to smother him,” Meg confessed with a shrug.

“Okay. That means it’s about time you both went to bed.”

“But I’m not tired,” Castiel said with a yawn.

Dean dragged them to their bedroom anyway and forced them to get out of their costumes. The little monsters attempted another protest, but in the end they were fast asleep the minute their heads fell on their pillows. Dean made sure they were covered and then hanged the costumes in the back of the closet. The cats jumped slid inside the room and jumped at the bed to cuddle with their masters.

The hunter stood at the doorway for a moment longer, wondering what that feeling in his gut was. It felt a little bit like peace. Like everything was as it was meant to be.

He shook his head, telling himself Sam would never let him hear the end of it if he knew what he was thinking, and hit the lights off. He made sure to pick up another blanket to put on Sam’s shoulder before going to the kitchen and picking up a beer for himself.

Sam woke up with a jolt when he felt him sitting by his side.

“What, when…?”

“You had fun, I take it,” Dena chuckled.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes. “How about you?”

“It was fun until I lost them,” Dean admitted.

“You what?!”

Dean realized that line of confession was getting him nowhere, so he changed the topic.

“Hey, why is the bathroom’s door in the third hall boarded up?” he asked.

Sam’s scandalized face disappeared, and instead, he cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

“How about we never talk about this night again?”

“Right, on one condition,” Dean said. “Next year, you’re coming with us.”

There was nothing Sam could argue against that. He looked at Crowley, who was drooling a little over his pumpkin onesie.

“What time do you think Rowena’s gonna pick him up?” he asked his brother.

“Twenty bucks say we’re stuck with the little bastard ‘til sunrise.”

 

* * *

 

Rowena didn’t show up by sunrise. Nor by midday, nor by noon. Crowley kept crying and no amount of rubbing _Mr. Whiskers_ did, no amount of threats Meg shouted at him would shut him up.

“No, come on, come on,” Sam begged. “Crowley, Crowley, look. It’s Captain Bear!”

The baby stopped crying long enough to look at the teddy bear with teary eyes and a twisted mouth, like he had stopped mid-cry and wasn’t sure if he was going to begin again or not.

“Arrg, Fergus,” Sam said, doing his best pirate impersonation. “You are a brave little pirate, ain’t you? And pirates don’t cry, no, they don’t…”

That seemed to have the exact inverse purpose of what Sam intended, because apparently being told that he couldn’t cry was the best way to get Crowley to start crying again. Sam closed his eyes and covered his ears. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept well in two days (because Dean insisted that since Crowley was Sam’s responsibility, he had to spend the night in his room), he had barely been able to eat and his brain felt like it was about to explode inside his skull. At this point, that certainly would have been a blessing.

Dean walked into the library. To be honest, his aspect wasn’t much better than Sam’s. He had been fighting to stop Meg or her cat or both of them at the same time from strangling Crowley. At the end, when he had felt tempted to just let her, he had tricked Meg into a Devil’s Trap and left her there with a pair of earphones and some gossip magazines. Even from that distance Sam could hear Meg shouting all sort of obscenities at them.

Even Castiel, who was usually so very patient with small animals and kids, seemed like he wouldn’t be able to stand the situation any longer without burning something down.

“How much longer do you think until Rowena comes back?” he asked, with his blue eyes opened big in concern.

Sam, who was pacing around and rocking Crowley in one last desperate attempt to calm him down, let out a deep sigh.

“I think it’s time we consider the possibility she is not coming back willingly,” he said. He sounded so tired it was heartbreaking.

“Oh, hell, no!” Dean protested. “We’re not getting stuck with another one! Rowena made this mess, she’s gonna have to own up to it!”

“I agree,” Sam said, patting Crowley in the back now that his crying had toned down to soft whimpers and sobbing. “But how do you propose we find her? She could be anywhere in the world…”

“Maybe Meg can elaborate a tracking spell,” Castiel suggested.

Meg’s muffled voice cursing them all in an ancient hellish language reached their ears.

“I don’t think she’s in the mood for that,” Sam said.

“Nope,” Dean said, but then his eyes lit up with an idea. “But she’s not the only one who’s magic-savvy in this neighborhood.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, they parked outside Mrs. Periwinkle’s house.

“How are you doing back there?” Dean asked, turning around.

Meg groaned and refused to look at him. Before letting her out of the trap, they had hanged several charms and amulets around her neck and they had forced the promise that she wouldn’t try to murder Crowley. Again. Luckily for them, Crowley apparently enjoyed the car ride, because he had been quiet ever since they started the engine.

“Terrific,” Castiel said. “It seems he’s finally calmed down.”

Sam noticed Crowley’s face, usually bright red from the crying was greenish pale, and he was about to say something when the baby opened his mouth and spilled half-digested formula all over the car’s floor.

“Ugh, disgusting!” Meg complained and she moved away like that could help her get away from the stench.

Dean threw a murderous glare in Sam’s direction.

“You’re blaming me?” Sam asked, innocently.

“I’m blaming you!”

The only advantage of Crowley being car sick it was that apparently exhausting, because he was fast asleep by the time they crossed Mrs. Periwinkle’s yard and knocked on her door.

“Castiel!” the short old lady exclaimed delighted when she open. “Meg!”

“Hello, Mrs. Periwinkle.”

“Are you here for another piece of cake?” the old witch asked with a big grin in her face.

“Yes, please,” Meg said, and was about to step inside the house when Sam put a hand on her shoulder.

“Actually, ma’am, we don’t want to take up much of your time,” he said. “We were hoping maybe you can help us.”

“Well, no reason to deprive the little ones of something to eat while I do,” Mrs. Periwinkle shrugged and beckoned them inside. “Can I offer you a little something as well?”

“Ah, no, thanks,” Dean said. “We’ll just take the help.”

“Let me guess,” Mrs. Periwinkle said, looking at him with one of her grey eyebrows raised. “You’re a pecan pie kind of boy, aren’t you?”

Dean tilted his head. Despite his initial concerns, he liked this tiny little lady.

Mrs. Periwinkle sat them all around her kitchen table (which they could’ve sworn wasn’t big enough to have five people sitting around it a minute before), indicated a highchair (that wasn’t there before she pointed at it) for them to install Crowley, served some coffee along with the pieces of cake and finally sat down next to Sam with a ball of wool and some knitting needles.

“Now, it begs the question,” she said. “Why is that child dressed up as a pumpkin?”

The Winchesters exchanged looks, and started telling her their story, with an interruption here and there from Meg or Cas to clarify a point. Mrs. Periwinkle accepted the story like having two demons and an angel turned into children was something she saw every other day.

“Well, _of course_ Rowena is behind all this,” she huffed when they finished. “She’s always had a complete disregard for the rules. Now, don’t get me wrong, she’s a brilliant witch. The problem is she knows she’s brilliant and she thinks that gives her the right to do whatever she pleases. (Hold up your arm, dear.) Most witches are guilty of this, truth be told. It’s the reason I stopped going to the Grand Coven parties. Too many egos.”

“Can you help us?” Sam asked, as Mrs. Periwinkle compared the length of her weaved to his arm. “Can you please track her down so we can talk to her?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Mrs. Periwinkle said. She let go off the needles, that remained floating on the air and began knitting by themselves at break-neck speed. “ _Pericles_? Where are you, you useless cat?”

 _Pericles_ , the enormous black cat the children had seen outside her house on Halloween, seemed to materialize out of thin air and meowed. A second later, a man in a black suit with the same yellow eyes as the cat materialized in the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked, humbly.

“Cool!” Meg said, between bites of cake.

“Bring me my satchel, will you?” she asked. “Oh, and don’t forget the candles.”

Ten minutes later, she had installed a small altar on the coffee table of her living room and was burning some aromatic herbs as she murmured some words in an ancient Gaelic language.

“I’m not entirely sure what she’s trying to do here,” Sam commented. He was holding Crowley, who was diligently sucking on Captain Bear’s ear.

“Give her some credit,” Dean said, as he took another spoonful of pie into his mouth. “The lady seems competent.”

A cloud of violet smoke appeared over the couch, and when it cleared out, Rowena was lying there, passed out and snoring. Her red hair was tangled and dirty, her previously elegant dress was torn and had what looked like bloodstains all over and even standing at the other side of the room the Winchesters could smell the stench of booze she gave out.

“Mama!” Crowley screamed upon seeing her, stretching his little arms towards her.

Rowena sat up with a jolt and looked around, clearly disconcerted.

“What? Where…?”

“There you go,” Mrs. Periwinkle said, satisfied. “Now, I’m gonna see if the little ones want more cake.”

She left the Winchesters to stare at the other witch with the disapproval of a pair of parents who watched their teenager sneaking in the house drunk in the middle of the night.

“Oh, boys,” Rowena said, with a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I got a little carried away…”

“A little carried away?” Sam said, severely. “You were gone for two days, Rowena!”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Completely radio silent!” Dean continued. “You have no idea how upset Crowley was!”

“Oh, please,” Rowena huffed. “He’s a baby, I bet he didn’t even notice I was gone…”

“MAMA!” Crowley yelled, twisting in Sam’s arms. The hunter put him down and Crowley all but run towards Rowena and put his fat arms around one of her legs.

“Does that look like he didn’t notice to you?” Sam asked.

“Oh,” Rowena said, completely out of arguments. “Well, I was just…”

“Look, I understand that you like the… blood orgies or whatever is it that you’ve been doing,” Dean scolded her. “But you have a responsibility now.”

“This is exactly what you wanted to fix when you rejuvenated Crowley,” Sam added. “You were trying to make up for your past mistakes. So why are you making them all over again?”

Rowena opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked down at Crowley, who was stretching his arms at her.

“Up!” he demanded. “Mama, up!”

Something changed in Rowena’s expression. Her eyes became watery and her mouth twisted in a sad bow as she leaned down to pick up her demon child.

“Oh, I’m so sorry my pretty, little ball of sulfur!” she said, hugging him tight. “I am never leaving you again, I promise!”

The Winchesters looked at each other and sighed in relief.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Master Castiel, the scratch behind the ear is most pleasant,” _Pericles_ was telling the children when they entered the kitchen again. “The tummy rub, however, is something only mutts can enjoy.”

“There you are,” Mrs. Periwinkle said, upon seeing the brothers. “Rowena.”

“Tabitha,” Rowena said, lifting her chin. “Next time you do that summoning spell make sure to use some herbs to make it less of a nauseating trip.”

“That’d be the hangover, Rowie,” Mrs. Periwinkle said kindly, and she turned away from Rowena before the other witch could reply. “Are you all leaving already? So soon?”

“Yeah, there’s school tomorrow,” Dean said. “Let’s go, kids.”

Castiel and Meg stood up, and Pericles returned to his cat form to let them pet him goodbye.

“Oh, before you go,” Mrs. Periwinkle said, picking up what appeared to be a freshly knitted blue sweater from one of the chairs. “For you, Sammy, sweetie.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sam said, confused. “Why are you…?”

“Well, winter this year is going to be very cold,” Mrs. Periwinkle replied. “I don’t believe they make sweaters your size.”

“That’s… very thoughtful, Mrs. Periwinkle,” Sam said, blushing and embarrassed because he didn’t know how to react to that. “Thank you.”

“How come you never magically knit sweaters for us?” Dean asked Rowena mockingly.

“There’s a little thing you’re forgetting here,” Rowena said after glaring at him. “I’m not one of the nice witches.”

“That you ain’t,” Dean admitted. Rowena looked flattered.

They reached the Impala and stopped for a moment.

“Well,” said Rowena. “This has been fun. Shall we do it again on Christmas?”

“No!” the Winchester, Meg and Castiel exclaimed in unison.

“Thought so,” Rowena shrugged.

And she and Crowley disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed that the chapter thingie says it’s going to be 25 chapters total. That’s because I decided not to exhauste myself writing this story, and with the Megstiel Big Bang coming up, I’m going to need time to work on that. So this is going to be the first part, I’m gonna let it rest for a while, and then I’m going to write a second part (maybe as long as this one, maybe a little shorter) that’s going to deal with the (mis)adventures of Teen!Cas and Teen!Meg. Can’t say when, but it will happen soon enough.


	22. Snow

There was someone in the room.

This information filtered through Sam’s sleepy brain, and the hunter instinctively reached for the gun underneath his pillow only for his fingers to scratch the empty surface.

“It’s not there,” a husky voice informed him.

Sam jolted awake to find a pair of pitch black eyes staring at him and suffered a moment of panic before realizing it was okay. That was his demon.

“Meg,” he sighed. “How many times have I asked you not to do that?”

“Counting this one, fifty seven,” she said, with a smirk. “But it never stops being funny.”

Sam yawned and turned on his night lamp.

“It’s barely six on a Saturday,” he said after checking his cellphone. “What are you doing up?”

Meg’s eyes lit up. “It’s snowing.”

“We’re in Kansas,” Sam reminded her. “It’s gonna have melted by midday.”

“No, Sam,” Meg insisted. “It really _is_ snowing.”

“Sure it is,” Sam said as he turned around to sleep for a couple more hours. He wasn’t going to be that lucky. A small body jumped on top of his chest, practically suffocating him.

“Come on,” Meg said, shaking him by the shoulders. “Aren’t you at least a bit curious about it?”

Sam cursed under his breath, but it was obvious Meg wasn’t going to leave him alone until he saw what she ahd to show him, so he stretched and got out of bed.

The first unusual thing he noticed was that it was unusually chilly in the bunker. Normally the place was warm enough that he could sleep shirtless, but that morning, he shivered and had to asked Meg to wait while he put something on. She was wearing a cardigan over her nightgown, even though cold shouldn’t have been much of a problem for her. While she guided Sam through the library, he realized the temperature in there was freezing cold. By the time they climbed the stairs towards the door outside, Sam’s teeth were clattering.

“Well, it sure is cold enough to be snowing,” Sam ended up admitting.

Meg gave him the shrug that clearly meant “I told you so” before opening the door with a rather dramatic gesture. Sam’s jaw dropped.

A freezing wind was coming from outside, making him shiver even more. Under the pale morning light, as far as he could see, everything was cover in white, fresh snow. _Mephistopheles_ , who of course had been following them the entire time, took a step outside and promptly sunk until only his tail was visibly. He returned two seconds later, meowing and shaking himself, spreading snowflakes all around their feet.

“See?” Meg said. “It’s snowing.”

 

* * *

 

“School’s cancelled, roads are dangerous,” Dean numbered as he played with the radio dial. “Looks like we’re snowed in. Damn, and I was thinking about buying the Christmas’ decorations.”

“This makes no sense,” Sam said, as he read all the articles he could find online about the sudden, freaky weather that was affecting a lot of areas that should not be buried under several inches of snow. “Dean, I think something’s causing this.”

“Yeah, global warming’s a real bitch.”

“No, I mean, _something_ is causing this,” Sam insisted. “You remember those old pagan gods in Michigan?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. and Mrs. Claus,” Dean chuckled. “Good times. But they kind of did the exact opposite of what’s going here, didn’t they?”

Sam bitch faced at him but Dean seemed completely unaffected by it.

“If there are creatures that can make the weather get milder, then there must be other’s that cause it to go colder,” Sam said. “I’m just saying it’s worth looking into.”

Dean was about to give him a very likely sarcastic reply when Meg and Castiel rushed into the library wearing what seemed to be most of their wardrobe.

“We’re ready!” said the bundle of clothes that Meg had become.

“Ready for what?”

“They snow day!” Castiel replied, waving his mittens in the air.

Dean glanced at Sam, who sighed, defeated.

“Alright, let me get my jacket.”

Several minutes later, they were out in the middle of the woods. Sam was sitting on a rock with his back against a tree trunk reading possible cause for sudden climate change while Meg, Castiel and Dean built a snowman. Or so Sam thought, because when Meg came to tug at his jacket and demand him to look at what they’ve, all he saw was Castiel buried under a pile of snow holding two sticks in the air while Dean took photographs with his cellphone.

“I’m a snow angel!” Castiel explained. “Do you understand, Sam? It’s a pun!”

“Yeah, that’s very funny, Cas,” Sam chuckled.

“Okay, now get out of there before you get sick,” Dean said, pulling from Castiel’s hand to help him get out of the pile. “And you need to get off your high unfun horse and enjoy the goddamn snow.”

“Dean, this could be serious,” Sam protested. “What are the chances that…?”

A snowball hit him square on the face, effectively shutting him up. Sam cleaned his face with his jacket sleeve and stared at his brother in disbelief.

“Did you just throw a snowball at me?” he asked.

Dean stood up with another snowball on his hand.

“Nope,” he lied, and threw it.

Only this time, he failed (or maybe he meant to do that) and hit Meg, who lost her balance and fell on her ass. Castiel let out a giggle he immediately suppressed when Meg stood up with murder gleaming in her eyes, and promptly dispatched two other snowballs directly to their faces.

There was no way Sam could stop being involved in the ensuing fight, so all he could do was put the tablet away and hide with Meg behind the trees while they make more balls to defend themselves.

“I say we go for a full frontal attack,” Meg said, as the squatted together. “No holding back, no taking prisoners.”

“No, no,” Sam stopped her. “We need to think this over. Here’s what we have to do.”

When he finished explaining his plan, Meg was grinning with evil satisfaction.

“Here they come,” Sam warned her when they heard some rustling. “Get going!”

“Give it up, Sammy!” Dean demanded. “This one is ours!”

“Never!” Sam replied in his most defiant tone.

“Then come out and face us!” Castiel dared him.

Sam waited a few seconds more to make sure Meg was in position, and then he came out from behind the tree, screaming at the top of his lungs and running as fast as his boots allowed him too. Dean didn’t even have a chance before he was tackled to the ground by over two hundred pounds of what he would later describe as a “raging man-moose.” Before Castiel could raise his snowball to defend his partner, a volley of snow coming from somewhere above hit him on the head and finished with him as thoroughly taken by surporise as Dean.

“Dude!” Dean complained. “That’s cheating!”

“That’s strategic thinking, Dean,” Sam replied, utterly proud of himself.

From the tree branch she had chosen to climb for her attack, Meg was pointing at them and laughing so hard she almost fell.

 

* * *

 

“Go change your socks,” Dean instructed as Meg and Castiel took off their jackets. “And come back so we can have some cocoa.”

“How did you climb up there so fast?” Castiel said. He had overcome the butthurt from the defeat much faster than Dean. “That was very impressive, Meg.”

“Yes, it was,” Meg agreed as they both waltzed away towards their room.

“Okay,” Dean said after strategically placing the little monster’s jackets in front of the stove so they would dry up. “You think you can handle the cocoa front?”

“Where are you going?” Sam asked. Dean had grabbed his keys and was clearly heading for the garage.

“Christmas décor!” Dean reminded him. “Roads should be fine by now, and there’s still some daylight.”

“Drive carefully,” Sam recommended anyway.

“When don’t I?”

One glare from his brother indicated Dean it was best not to go down that path. He assured him he would be back in less than an hour and exited the library. Once he was on his way to the town, Dean turned on the radio. Bon Jovi’s _Who Says You Can’t Go Home_ came on, and Dean hesitated, but in the end left it there.

“Nobody’s ever going to know,” he told his car. “’Cause you’re not gonna tell anybody, will you, Baby? Of course not. You’re the best.”

He was in a fantastically good mood, despite his back hurting all over from being brusquely squashed against the hard ground. Damn, when had Sam became such a monster? He could have sworn not two minutes ago he was just a baby not much bigger than Crowley, and…

Something pulled his focus out. At first he didn’t pay much attention to it, but as he passed it by it became impossible to ignore: it was a small ball of white light moving around what seemed to be an incredibly large pile of snow. He blinked a couple of times, but his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. There really was a light hysterically hitting the pile of snow like it was trying to take it apart.

Dean stopped the car, grabbed his gun out of pure instinct and ran towards it.

“Hey!” he screamed, although he wasn’t sure what that would accomplish. The little light stopped moving on top of the car for a second, until Dean was close enough to see the pile of snow actually had a recognizable shape: it was tall enough and large enough to be a car.

He began digging and throwing the snow out of the way with his bare hands, concerned that there might be someone trapped in there. The little light kept hitting around like some sort of especially annoying mosquito, and it only took a few seconds for Dean to realize it was indicating him where to dig. He started taking handfuls of snow from the places the little light hit, and in a matter of seconds, he had made a big enough hole for him to see a the car’s misty window. There was a dark form inside.

“Dammit,” Dean muttered and took out his phone to call 911.

Once he’d done that, he kept digging until he freed the car’s door, but still had to use his whole strength to pull it open.

There was a woman inside the car, unconscious and with a bloody forehead. He put two fingers on her neck. She still had a pulse, but it was worryingly weak.

“Hey, hey,” Dean tried to wake her but shaking her by the shoulders a little. “Can you hear me?”

The woman’s eyes fluttered but she didn’t wake up. Dean took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. There were sirens echoing in the distance.

“Help’s on the way,” he told the woman, even though he didn’t know if she could hear him. “Hang in there, okay?”

It wasn’t until the ambulance and the firemen arrived that Dean looked around and realized the little light had vanished.


	23. Presents

“Dude, you were right,” Dean told Sam when he called him to tell him why he was coming home late. “There _is_ something causing this freaky weather.”

Instead of saying _‘I told you so’_ , like he was completely entitled to, Sam went into immediate investigating hunter’s mode.

“What did you see?”

Dean described him the snow, the light, how it’d hanged in the air, like it had been waiting for someone to help the trapped woman.

“Police say she probably lost control and dive into a pile of snow,” Dean explained. “And the rest of it just fell on top of her, but I’m not sure I’m buying that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Sam agreed. “Alright, I’m gonna hit the books. See if you can find out anything else.”

“Got you,” Dean said. He turned around just when a paramedic in a polar jacket was coming his way.

“Uh, mister…” she said.

“Page,” Dean said, automatically. “Dean Page. I just want to know, is she going to be okay?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely,” the paramedic said. “We’ve managed to wake her up and get her temperature up. She actually asked to speak to you.”

The woman in the car looked pale, but maybe that was an effect from the lights in the back of the ambulance and the fact she was surrounded by several blankets. Another paramedic was stitching the cut in her head, and she grimaced at every touch, but she still managed to smile when she saw Dean.

“Hey,” she greeted him like they were old friends. “My savior!”

“Oh, please,” Dean said, modestly, but showing off his most handsome smirk. “I did what anybody would have done. I’m glad you’re okay, uh…”

“Iris,” the woman introduced herself. “I’d shake your hand but they’ve told me not to move too much. They don’t know if I have a concussion or something.”

“You were very lucky,” Dean commented.

“I was,” Iris replied. She went quit, like she was thinking about something that couldn’t quite express out loud, so Dean decided to help her.

“Uh, just out of curiosity and if you don’t mind me asking,” he said, and waited until Iris nodded to go on. “Did you see or heard anything weird before you crashed into the snow?”

Iris remained solemnly silent for a few seconds, like she was struggling to remember or to find the words.

“Well, I hit my head pretty hard, so I don’t know how well I remember it,” she said in the end. “But just before I lost control, I thought I heard a… a whistle.”

“A whistle?” Dean repeated, frowning.

“A wheezing whistle,” she continued. “I thought it was the wind, but it was really weird and it went on for a while. And then when I crashed… you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I wasn’t scared.”

“How so?”

“I felt like there was someone there with me,” Iris explained. “Trying to help me out, to keep me awake. It sounds crazy, but… like I said. Pretty hard blow I took,” she added with a smile, pointing at her forehead.

“That must be it,” Dean agreed.

By the time he got home, the kids had already been put to bed while Sam read through a bunch of books piled up on top of the library.

“What’s you find?”

“That the Men of Letters were pretty thorough at documenting Yeti sightings,” Sam said. “There was a pretty violent internal argument about those who believed in its existence and those who didn’t.”

“So… you got jack,” Dean understood.

Sam put the book aside and threw his hands in the air. Dean went to make some coffee, ‘cause he predicted that was going to be one long night. In the meantime, he informed Sam of what Iris had told him.

“So this thing might have caused the crash, but then it stayed behind to help her?” Sam repeated.

“I know, I have a hard time believing it too,” Dean nodded. “Normally these things either kill you or save you, not both.”

Sam tapped his fingers on the table.

“What if it didn’t mean to make her crash?” he suggested.

“I’m not following,” Dean said, frowning.

“What if it the creature – whatever it is – was just passing through, minding its own business, and Iris just happened to get caught in the middle of it?” Sam explained. “And she couldn’t see it, but you could because its some sort of fairy creature?”

“What, like a snow fairy or something?” Dean asked as Sam began revolving the books. “Does that exist?”

“Yes,” Sam said, proudly presenting an open book to Dean. “It does.”

Dean looked at the illustrations of the book his brother was holding and tilted his head a little.

“That doesn’t look like a fairy.”

 

* * *

 

 _Pericles_ was outside of Mrs. Periwinkle’s house, shoveling the snow out of the way. He was wearing the same black suit as the last time they’d seen him, but had added a single long scarf to complete it. Upon seeing the Winchesters and their little monsters, he stopped and leaned on the shovel.

“Hello, Master Winchester and Younger Master Winchester,” he greeted them, all polite and correct. “And Master Castiel and Miss Meg.”

“Hello, Pericles,” Castiel said, extending a gift towards him. “We bought you something.”

“Thank you very much, Master Castiel,” said the familiar. His orange eyes were wide open with surprise. “But we’re still a week away from Christmas.”

“Well, if you want you can open it then,” Castiel shrugged. “It’s just that we were at the pet shop trying to decide what we would buy for _Whiskers_ and _Meph_ , and we thought it’d be nice if we bought something for you too.”

 _Pericles_ took the gift, stared at it from every angle and shook it next to his ear. He seemed hesitant for a moment, but in the end curiosity killed the cat: he ripped the wrapping and opened the box. A squeaky blue mouse fell into his hand. Sam had thought the present was a little corny for a magical cat that must have been around for centuries, but _Pericles_ looked touched, with tears forming in the corner of his strange eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, holding the mouse to his chest. “I will treasure it forever.”

“Told you he was gonna like it,” Meg said. Castiel pulled a two dollars bill out of his pocket and diligently put it into her open palm.

“Hey, _Pericles_ , is the old lady home?”

As if to answer his question, the door from the decrepit house burst open and Mrs. Periwinkle appeared on the doorframe wearing a funny woven hat over her gray hair.

“ _Pericles_ , why are you making the visits wait outside in the cold?” she scolded her familiar. “Invite them in. I was just about to make hot chocolate!”

The last two words worked like a starting signal, because both Meg and Castiel practically jumped the fence and ran towards the house. Mrs. Periwinkle made sure to pinch them both in the cheeks before serving them the chocolate.

“We’re sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Periwinkle,” Sam began.

“You’re not bothering me at all, boy,” said the old witch, offering marshmallows to the kids and placing a plate full of cookies in the middle of the table. She sat down in her old armchair and started knitting again. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Sam took out the book, and explained his theory to her.

“Huh,” said Mrs. Periwinkle. “I thought it was a bit unusually chilly.”

Even Dean stopped eating to look at her. “Just a bit?”

“A barbegazi?” Mrs. Periwinkle said, leaning over the book. “Are you certain?”

“It’s the only thing that fits,” said Sam. “We were hoping you would know how to, uh…”

He was going to say “get rid of it”, but Mrs. Periwinkle serene blue eyes were piercing him from behind her glasses, and suddenly he realized it wouldn’t be polite to talk about killing a magical creature in front of another magical creature.

“How to find it, dearie?” asked Mrs. Periwinkle, and Sam sighed with relief. “How to capture it and send it to a more appropriate environment for it?”

“Sure,” Dean said, after exchanging a look with Sam. “That’s exactly what we were going to say.”

“You’re very strange hunters,” Mrs. Periwinkle commented. “Normally, your kind just wants to shoot at things and be done with it. I’m so very glad you’re setting such a good example for your children.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally us,” Dean said. “We’re humanitarian hunters, all the way.”

Sam discreetly kicked him on the shin to shut him up.

“So can you help us?” he asked, showing his most pleading smile.

“Certainly,” Mrs. Periwinkle nodded. She stood up (her needles remained in the air, still knitting all by themselves) and opened her kitchen cupboard to extract what seemed to be a big jar of cookies. She handed it to Sam with a smile. “Once you’ve captured the poor dear, _Pericles_ and I will make sure to release it in a proper place.”

“Ugh… okay, thanks,” Sam said, looking at the cookie jar that seemed to be as ordinary as any cookie jar in the world. “I was thinking more along the lines of… you wouldn’t happen to have an advice on how to lure it out?”

“Well, barbegazies are playful creatures,” said Mrs. Periwinkle. “They like sliding in snow and such, which is why some times they cause avalanches. See, they don’t really mean to do it, so they always warn humans beforehand with a whistle.”

Sam looked at Dean, who didn’t seem to realize the old witch had basically just said that Sam was absolutely right in all his deductions.

“Okay, so, what? We whistle until it comes?” Dean asked, purposefully not giving Sam the opportunity to gloat.

“Not quite,” said the witch. “If the barbegazi hears people having fun all around, he’s likely to be attracted to them.”

She turned around to look at Meg and Castiel, who were devouring the lasts cookies left.

“Oh, yeah,” Meg said with a shrug. “We can do that.”

 

* * *

 

This time the snowball fight turned into an all out war, with trenches, ammunition and prisoners. Dean found an old army helmet that he forced Castiel to use, even though it was a little too big for his head and kept falling over his eyes, guaranteeing that Castiel would fall on the most inconvenient occasions and that Meg would fall on her ass too, pointing and laughing at him.

“Okay, guys, that is not how you…” Dean tried to protest, but three snowballs hit him square on the face, sending him stumbling over his own trench and rolling downhill. By the time he reached the end of it, he was laughing uncontrollably as well, and he waves his arms and legs to make a snow angel before standing up.

By sundown, all their jackets were wet with semi-melted snow and their noses were red, but they didn’t feel any cold from all the exercise they’ve done. Their stomachs hurt from the laughter, but also rumbled hungrily, so they decided they should try and lure the barbegazi the following day.

They were just approaching the Impala when an acute wheezing sound made the air vibrate. They all looked around, confused, until Castiel lifted a finger and shouted: “Look!”

The small ball of light was descending the hill at fast speed, making the snow jump all around like some sort of expert skier, coming directly at where they were standing.

Sam opened up the cookie jar and the barbegazi slid directly into it. He shut it right before the little light escaped, and showed it to the kids.

“That doesn’t look like a fairy,” Meg commented, pointing at the small old man with beard wrapped around his neck like a scarf and enormous feet. The creature smiled at her nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

The following day, the snow had melted completely and Dean could finally go buy all the Christmas decoration he wanted. Sam didn’t see the point of having an ugly plastic tree standing at the corner of the library and he definitely thought Dean went overboard with all the wreaths on the halls, but he wasn’t going to protest.

What he could have complained about though, was waking up at the crack of dawn (again) to Meg’s pitch black eyes looming over his face.

“What is it this time?” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s Christmas,” Meg informed him.

“What?”

“ _Christ-mas_ ,” Meg repeated, stretching every syllable. “I didn’t kill or maim anybody, I went to school every day and followed all your stupid rules. I was good, and I want my present!”

Sam sat up on the bed. He realized, for the first time, that they hadn’t celebrated Christmas in years, and maybe that’s why Dean had been so excited about it.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do go Christmas-y stuff.”

Cas practically yelled in happiness when he saw the bikes parked next to the tree, one violet and one blue, both of them topped with a bow in the handlebars.

“They’re only second hand,” Dean informed them. “So you gotta promise to be kind to them…”

He was interrupted by Cas squeezing him tight around the waist.

“Thank you, Dean!” he said. “Thank you so much!”

“Well… I mean, they’re from Sam too…” Dean mumbled, embarrassed.

Meg was already climbing on hers and trying out the balance.

“Not bad,” she determined with a smirk.

They practically begged for Sam to take them out and try them out on the wet pavement, and Sam filmed Castiel falling and resolutely climbing his bike again because Dean had stayed behind to cook the Christmas dinner and he was missing out on the shenanigans of their little monsters. Charlie showed up around noon, and Castiel almost crashes against her yellow beetle.

“Woah, slow down there, cowboy,” Charlie laughed, as she held the bowl full of chocolate mousse she’d brought as dessert.

“Hello, Charlie,” Castiel greeted.

“Did you bring us presents too?” Meg asked, with a twinkle in her eyes and before Sam could scold her for being rude, Charlie said:

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

The mischievous smile in her face should have been an indication.

“This is humiliating,” Meg complained later, but Castiel was far too excited for anyone to be grumpy too long.

“Come on, Meg,” he insisted. “Everyone is wearing them!”

In the end, Meg agreed with a groan.

“Family picture!” Charlie proclaimed as soon as everybody was wearing the hats with reindeer antlers she’d bought.

“I am never going to forgive this,” Meg assured as Charlie set up the camera. Sam was pretty certain he meant it, and yes, it was a bit embarrassing to be wearing antlers, but then Charlie and Dean started competing for who could make the most ridiculous face, and even Meg had to laugh out loud at that.

“Okay, everyone,” Dean said, presenting his chicken on the table. “I tried to make this weird sauce recipe I saw online, so if it’s not good, you can blame it on the Internet.”

They had to tell him about ten times each that the dinner was delicious.

“Man, I wish I’d been there to see it,” Charlie said when they told her about the barbegazi and the freaky snow storm it’d caused. “I hadn’t had a good snowball fight in ages.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged glances of complicity that were not lost on Sam.

“What?” he asked them.

“Oh, nothing,” Dean said with a shrug. “It’s just that we may or may not have stored some leftover snow in the basement’s fridge…”

“Last one there is a cracked egg!” Meg shouted before jumping from her seat and sliding down the hallway, with Charlie and Castiel at heels.

“You know they’re going to make a mess… everywhere, don’t you?” Sam asked, with a sigh.

“Yes, I do,” Dean laughed, pretty satisfied at himself before raising a glass of eggnog. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

Sam couldn’t help but to smile at his dorky older brother.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”


	24. Birthday

The marks on the doorway had certainly become higher during the last month, even if just by a few inches. Meg was now almost as tall as Castiel and simply delighted at that fact.

“Soon…” she muttered to herself, rubbing her hands. Dean didn’t dare to ask what was coming “soon” but he had the feeling it had something to do with roller-coaster. Meg didn’t let go off things easily.

Castiel, on the other hand, seemed a bit frustrated by his lack of progress. The Winchesters found him staring at the marks on several occasions, squinting at them like he thought if he looked at them hard enough they would magically become higher.

“Okay, buddy, this is getting weird,” Dean said, when he couldn’t take it any longer. “What is it with you?”

Castiel sighed dramatically, sat down at the table with the brothers and looked up at Dean.

“I miss flying,” he said simply.

“Didn’t you lose your wings when Metatron first took your grace?” Sam pointed out.

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “But Rowena’s spell did something about them and now I have them back.”

“And what seems to be the issue?”

Castiel reached around his back, like he was trying to touch them.

“I’m far too heavy,” he said. “And they’re still far too small.”

“So you are just, what? Willing them into growing again?” Dean asked.

“I’ve tried,” Castiel confessed. “Their size seems to be tied to my physical developing. It might take months, even years before I can use them again.”

“Well… just give it some time, buddy,” Sam said, patting the little angel in the shoulder. Castiel raised his eyes at him.

“Oh, wow, giving it some time,” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How come I did not think of that? Thank you, Sam, your advice has certainly been most useful. I’m going to sit down at the couch right now and just wait for enough the time to pass.”

He strutted out of the library followed by Dean’s snickering.

“Is it just me or is he picking up some of Meg’s bad habits?” Sam complained.

“Nah, he was always a sassy little shit,” Dean replied. He took a swig of his beer. “Hey, have you noticed it’s going to be almost a year since Rowena fucked up and turned them into fun-sized versions of themselves?”

“Already?” Sam asked, surprised.

“I know, right?” Dean said. “Time flies when you’re having fun. You know, unlike Cas.”

“I heard that!” Castiel screamed from the other room.

“Huh,” Sam said and returned his attention to the notebook in front of him, but instead of writing, he tapped the pen against the table.

“Okay, now you’re thinking,” Dean guessed. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Maybe we should… celebrate it or something. I mean, it is their birthday. In a way, in a weird twisted way. I know, it’s a stupid idea,” he added with a cringe. “Forget I even brought it up.”

Dan finished his bear and reflected upon it over the empty bottle.

“No, it’s actually not really all that crazy,” he said. “I mean, birthdays are important to kids, right? There is a whole psychological angle on this whole growing up thing they had to do after all.”

“So we’re actually doing this?” Sam asked, surprised his brother was even considering it. “We’re doing the whole party with cake and guests and little bags with surprises at the end of it?”

“Woah, woah, no, that’s too much,” Dean shook his head, horrified at the idea of two dozens of kids running around and muddling the bunker. If they were going to do it, it’d definitely had to be somewhere they wouldn’t have to clean afterwards, because he would probably go into a mental breakdown if he saw his home defiled like that. “I’m thinking maybe take them somewhere we can set them loose so they can have fun.”

“There is no such place,” Sam said.

Dean shamelessly snatched the laptop from Sam’s hands and did a two second search. Then he turned it around so Sam could see all the results.

“You’re a man of little faith, Sammy,” he said, smiling satisfied.

 

* * *

 

“I gotta give it to you,” Meg said. “Of all the lame ideas you’ve got, this one at least looks like _fun_.”

The screaming of kids running around unchecked sent shivers down Dean’s spine, but this had been his idea and the fact that Meg approved of it was enough to get him to go through with it. They stood at the door of the amusement arcade waiting for Charlie to arrive with the fake birth-certificates that would grant the little monsters a free pass for all the games. Of course, Charlie had announced she was decided to join them, so at least they would have back up if things went overboard.

“So literally, you’re going to let us do whatever the hell we want?” Meg asked again, as if she could not believe her luck. “For like, three entire hours?”

“Within certain limits,” Sam reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no killing or torturing anybody, I got that,” Meg said, but her eyes still shone as she watched the other children running around. “And we get free ice-cream just for pretending it’s our birthday?”

“I don’t think that is very ethical,” Castiel said. “We were born a long time ago, after all. I don’t think modern calendars applied to…”

“Cas,” Meg grabbed the little angel’s arm. “Shut up and get a load of _that_.”

She pointed at a trampoline with a crowd of children around it waiting for their turn to get in. They were strapped in harnesses by the arcade’s staff and then left to jump and twirl around until their hairs were damped with sweet and their faces were burning red.

“Oh,” Castiel muttered. “Well… that certainly seems entertaining.”

“I’m here!” Charlie screamed, running towards them and practically skidding to a halt. “Oh, my gosh, this is so exciting! I haven’t been to one of these since I was… well, like about your age, guys.”

“Are you several millions years old too?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Charlie said, handing Dean a blue folder. “But _you_ are officially ten years old today.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh, oh, let’s try that one!” Meg screamed, pulling Sam’s hand.

She was wheezing and with her hair disheveled after a couple of aggressive rounds against some poor kids who didn’t stand a chance in Dance Dance Revolution, but she didn’t show any signs of slowing down or changing her purpose of trying literal every game in the arcade before they head on for the restaurant to claim their free banana split.

“Alright, alright.”

Sam passed the card for the game to start and Meg immediately grabbed the gun machine. She started shooting zombies in the head with amazing aiming, so Sam figured she’d stay out of trouble if he just left her alone for three minutes while he went to the dispenser machine and bought himself a soda.

Of course, by the time he returned, trouble had found Meg.

“Come on, you’re not even doing it right!” a kid that was several inches taller and twice as wide as Meg was saying, standing way too close to her for his own good and practically waving an oversized cup of soda in her face.

“Well, what did you expect?” his friend, who was thinner yet still bigger than Meg said. “She’s _a girl_.”

Meg kept shooting at the zombies with her tongue between her lips, obviously focusing every ounce of her concentration on that.

“Hey, didn’t you listened to us?” the fatter kid said. “I said, give it to us!”

He took a step forwards, but with one fluid movement; Meg paused the game and got out of his reach.

“Listen, I’m trying to behave and not kill anybody here,” she told them. “But you’re making it really hard for me to be good and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Oh, really?” the other kid replied, mockingly. “And what exactly are you going to do?”

Sam dreaded the answer to that question, so he decided it was time for some adult intervention.

“Hey,” he said, towering behind the two kids. “Is there a problem here? Are these two bothering you, Meg?”

The kids turned around, and the colors disappeared from their faces in the blink of an eye.

“No, sir!”

“We were just watching your daughter play, sir!”

“Well, I don’t think she likes the public,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “So maybe you can go see someone else play.”

“Yes, sir!”

Meg chuckled maliciously as the two bullies scrambled out of sight.

“Hey,” Sam said, squatting next to Meg to talk face to face to her. “I’m proud of you for not doing something horrible to those two.”

Meg’s smirk disappeared and she looked pensive.

“So… would you still be proud of me if I told you I cursed their drinks so they’ll get explosive diarrhea?” she asked.

Sam couldn’t say in all honesty he wasn’t expecting something like that.

“We are just… not going to mention that part to Dean, okay?”

Meg didn’t need to be told twice.


	25. Flying

They found Charlie in the restaurant downing a burger and some chips while another sat untouched in front of her.

“That’s for Dean,” she told them when they asked her about it. “He thought he’d be back from the trampoline with Cas by now, but no dice. Apparently there’s a long queue.”

“Well, can I at least order my free ice cream now?” Meg said, impatient.

“Yes, about that…”

Dean and Castiel were barely a few kids away from making it to the goddamn thing and very far away from the restaurant. They still heard Meg’s frustrated shriek.

“Maybe I should go check on that…”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said. “They won’t let me get in unless I’m accompanied by an adult, you know that.”

Dean breathed deeply and looked at his little angel. Castiel was standing with his eyes fixed on the trampoline, holding his number close to his chest with a determination Dean hadn’t seen in him since the Apocalypse.

“Why is it such a big deal for you?” he asked. Castiel tilted his head and was barely opening his mouth to answer when Meg stomped closer to the both of them.

“Cas, you need to get your ass down to the restaurant right now,” she demanded. “Turns out the cheap bastards only give one free ice cream to birthday people.”

“What?” Dean asked, scandalized. “Well, that’s not right! There’s two of you.”

“I know. Charlie tried arguing that,” Meg said. “But they won’t budge.”

Castiel looked at Meg, then at the trampoline, then at Meg again. He seemed so deeply conflicted it was almost hilarious.

“Your call, buddy,” Dean shrugged when the little angel turned to him for advice.

Castiel remained in his spot even when the people in front of them moved. Up until that moment he had been inching towards the trampoline and glaring at people in front of them, probably wishing them away with all the strength of his mystical powers.

“No,” he said, in the end, and decidedly stepped forwards. “You can have the ice cream, Meg.”

“Don’t be silly,” Meg rolled her eyes. “It’s ice cream.”

“I understand that,” Castiel nodded. “But I had been waiting for this for a long time.”

“Make Dean stand in for you,” Meg suggested.

“That’s cheating, Meg.”

“Who cares?” she huffed. “Come on, the ice cream won’t be fun without you.”

The both of them looked so serious one might’ve thought they were discussing saving the world or something.

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here.”

Dean was certain for a moment or two that Meg was going to either scream at him or hit him, but the little demon crossed her arms, exasperated, and remained rooted to her spot.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Meg said. “I’m waiting with you, you stubborn knucklehead.”

Cas’ eyes opened wide in surprise, but he smiled, and resumed his intense staring at the trampoline.

A bunch of kids either got bored or started tugging their parents’ arms to tell them they needed to go to the bathroom. Dean suspected Meg was giving them the evil eye, but he couldn’t prove anything. And besides, it wasn’t like they were actually cutting in line or something.

At last, Castiel’s turn came. He presented his number proudly and was promptly urged to take off his shoes before being carefully tied up by the harnesses. The turn lasted fifteen minutes long, not nearly enough to compensate all the waiting they had done, but Castiel looked happy, hanging there from the harness with his toes barely grazing the trampoline’s surface.

“What are you waiting for?” Meg shouted.

“Start jumping!” Dean encourage him.

The little angel didn’t need to be told twice. He bent his knees and then rose in the air, a joyous laughter escaping from his lips. It was so strange, he usually was so serious about… well, everything. Dean had rarely seen him so delighted. Even Meg seemed to think so.

“Stupid little tree-topper…” she mumbled with a grin in her face. Dean pretended not to hear her to save them both the embarrassment.

Castiel was jumping higher and higher each time, the harness’ ropes tensing and vibrating in the air every time. At first, Dean didn’t see anything extraordinary about it. The other kids were doing the same thing, to the point where it looked like a competition where the “everything you can do I can do better” was sort of implied. But Dean noticed that Castiel’s harness was beginning to tense a little too quickly, like he was gaining impulse, and that the determination in the little angel’s face had returned after the first few jumps.

He wasted a lot of precious time wondering what that could mean, and by the time he had come up with an explanation, it was all too late.

“Cas!” he shouted, as the angel came down with such force that the trampoline practically sunk to the floor.

In the blink of an eye, Castiel flew high in the air when the harness’ ropes broke. He went over the protecting cage and landed all spread between two plastic jet skis in a riding game. The noise his little body made when it them sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.

“Clarence!” Meg screamed, as she, Dean and basically all of the Arcadia staff ran over to check on him.

Castiel blinked groggily a couple of times as everybody around him overwhelmed him with questions about how he felt, if anything hurt, don’t move, oh, God, is that blood, I am so getting fired for this, please, kid, just stay there, we should call an ambulance…

“It’s alright,” Castiel assured everybody while they helped him to his feet. “I’m not hurt.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean shouted, hysterically.

Before Cas could answer, Meg threw his arms around his neck and started bawling way too copiously and way too loudly for it to be real.

“You could have… you could have died!” she whimpered.

“Meg, please,” Castiel said, a little embarrassed at the fact Meg was hiding her face in his neck and holding him tighter than she ever had. “You know a fall like that is not enough to kill a…”

“And in our birthday!” Meg cried. “And we haven’t even had our ice cream!”

Dean tried his hardest not to laugh. Of course she had an angle.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later they were all sitting in the restaurant, after receiving the arcade’s manager’s most sincere apologies and promises that the security measures for the trampoline were going to be tightened in the future. Meg kept sobbing and talking about how Castiel could have broken his skull or his neck until the super embarrassed man promised to give them all the banana split they could eat to each. At that point, Meg wiped her tears and offered the man a tearful smile as if to say that she wasn’t fully forgiven him for endangering her cousin’s life, but that he had just taken a step in the right direction.

So now Dean was finally nibbling on his cheeseburger while he let Sam do the scolding.

“And look!” the younger Winchester said, pointing at the destroyed trampoline that was being ushered away by the Arcade’s staff. “Now no other kids can jump there.”

Castiel looked down at his half melted banana split, mortified.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I just wanted to try and fly again. I know it sounds stupid.”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Well, there was nothing they could really say or do in that front.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Dean forgave him. “Just promise not to try anything that dangerous again.”

Castiel nodded. Meanwhile, Meg was happily devouring her ice cream.

“Don’t you think that’s more than enough?” Charlie inquired, watching horrified as spoonful after spoonful disappeared inside the little demon’s mouth. Meg looked up at her with a crooked eyebrow, and Charlie knew she had made a mistake.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, sarcastically. “It really is a lot of ice cream. I just, you know, sometimes feel the need to eat everything I can. It’s weird, like I had been trapped in a wooden box for who knows how many years and someone had accidentally released me…”

“That’s… an oddly specific comparison,” Charlie said, but kept her mouth shut on the ice cream intake front from then on. The hardest part was avoiding the inquisitive glances from the Winchesters.

“Come on, Cas,” Meg said, elbowing the little angel. “I didn’t use my best fake cry to get us these so you wouldn’t touch yours.”

Castiel sighed, like the last thing in the world he wanted to do right now was stuff his face with sugar and cold.

“What?” he asked confused when everybody started laughing and pointing at his face. “What’s so funny?”

“You have some… some…” Charlie gasped between chuckles as she pointed her own cheek.

Castiel was about to raise his hand and wipe it off when Meg leaned closer to him.

“Let me,” she said.

Charlie and the Winchesters obviously found it hilarious when she kissed the cream off his face and how Castiel blushed furiously, but the little angel didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy marveling at the fluttering in his stomach and finding out there were other ways of flying.

 

* * *

 

“This day was awesome,” Charlie said, while she hugged the Winchesters goodbye. “We should turn this into a tradition. Go to a different place every year.”

“We could definitely do that,” Dean said, taking a look at the back seat. “I could use a peaceful night a year.”

Meg and Castiel were huddled together, fast asleep. They didn’t even find out when the Winchesters started the car, nor when they arrived to the bunker. They barely woke up when they put them to bed and the cats jumped meowing to nestle under their arms.

“They’re kinda cute like that, you know?” Dean commented, and Sam chuckled before hitting the lights off.

They weren’t really tired yet, so they went to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of beers and just sat there drinking, not saying a word for a long while.

“I think we handled it pretty well,” Dean said.

Sam didn’t know if he meant the crisis at the arcade, the fact they managed to get the kids out of the car without waking up or just the entire madness the last year had been, but still he said: “Yeah.”

Somehow, everything was as it was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Now, it's going to be some time before I start working in the Teen!Cas and Teen!Meg part of this series, so in the meantime, you can find me [here](http://inkbleeder.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr and tell me if there's anything in particular you would like to read in that fic. (Beware: there's a lot of Megstiel going on in my blog).


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